Interrogations
by Jennifer N
Summary: You don't have to support the mission. Just talk to her.' An Irina fic with a twist. COMPLETE
1. Brush Pass

**Title: **Interrogations****

**Author: **Jennifer N (jennifer_n97@hotmail.com)

**Summary: **"You don't have to support the mission.  Just talk to her."  Irina fic.****

**Rating: **PG-13

**Category:** Angst/Drama

**Spoilers: **post-"Phase One," pre-"A Dark Turn."  AU after that.****

**Distribution: **CM, AliasFanfiction, AU, SD-1****

**Feedback—**pretty please?****

**Disclaimer: **Alias doesn't belong to me.  Just Madison.****

**A/N:  **Thanks to Becky and Steph for reading and listening to my many, many rants. *grin*

_While this is an Irina fic, she's not actually in this part.  But don't worry—she's coming very soon._

**_One—_****_Brush_********_Pass_****__**

"This morning's brush pass that you requested went off without a hitch, according to Agent Bentley.  He asked that this be delivered to you," the secretary said as she handed Devlin a bulky envelope.

"Excellent.  Hold my calls, Kaye," he instructed, walking into his office.

Settling himself into his chair, he opened the envelope and began to read its contents.  Many minutes later he leaned back and whistled.  This request . . . it wasn't going to be well received.  In fact, he should probably deny it.  He could come up with at least a dozen reasons to say no, and even if he couldn't, he was certain Jack Bristow could.

But the nature of this op—the kind of inside information being requested could determine the success of this mission.  And this was one that everyone, from L.A. all the way to the Oval Office, wanted, _needed_, to go well.

Sighing, Devlin braced himself for the onslaught that he knew was coming and dialed a number he knew all too well.  Several minutes later, that authorization taken care of, he opened up the word processing program on his computer.  "Memorandum," he muttered to himself, "to Agent Kendall."  He quickly typed the memo and waited for it to print, then held it in his hands for one final moment before quickly stuffing it into an envelope.

"Kaye," he called as he walked out of his office, "I need this delivered by courier to Agent Kendall immediately."

"Certainly," she said as she took the envelope from his hand.  "Should I still hold your calls?"

Devlin grimaced.  "Hold all calls except from Agents Kendall and Bristow."

"When are you expecting calls from them, sir?"

"About five minutes after _that is delivered to the Joint Ops Center."_

*********

Madison walked out of the department store and into the mall, slouching under the weight of her morning's excursion.  Slowly making her way to the food court, she kept her eyes pealed for any sign of trouble.  There was none.  She set the bags on the ground and sank into the nearest chair as a small sigh escaped her lips.

_Crash._

She turned around to see a boy, perhaps five or six, picking himself up off the floor beside her.

"Tommy, get back here this instant!" a woman called.  Breathless, she approached the table and grabbed her son's hand.  She turned to speak to the woman who remained seated at her table.  "Ma'am, I'm so sorry about this.  I do hope my son didn't damage anything . . ." she trailed off.

"No damage done," Madison replied a bit too cheerfully, glancing surreptitiously at her watch before turning to examine the fair-headed mother and son in front of her.  _It's almost time._  Two apologies later, including one from the wayward boy, and they had disappeared into the mass of shoppers out and about on this late afternoon in February.

_My hair used to be as blonde as that . . ._  Pushing memories of the past aside, she checked the time again.  She retrieved her cell phone from her purse and dialed a number from memory.

"Hello, I was calling to see if you had a mystery book in stock . . ."

*********

"Bookworm requests pickup," a technician announced over a com link at Joint Ops.  "Location seven."

"Location seven, copy that.  ETA ten minutes," a voice answered back over the wires.

"Ten minutes, copy."  The technician released the "hold" button on his phone.  "Miss, we can have that book ready for you in ten minutes."

*********

"Ten minutes?  Excellent," Madison enthused.  "I've been looking for a copy of this book for so long," she rattled on, keeping up the appearance of a conversation for a few more minutes.  Satisfied, she wrapped up her conversation and ended the call.  She brushed off her jeans as she stood and grabbed the multitude of bags on the ground.

It was finally time.

*********

"_What_ could Ben possibly be thinking in allowing this?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you, Jack.  All I know is that I received a memo ordering me to allow Agent Thompson to interview—"

"Interview?  What is this, job shadowing day at the CIA?" Jack interrupted.

"Enough already," Kendall said as he rummaged through the stacks of papers on his desk.  "Here.  Read it for yourself."  He shoved a paper marked "Confidential" into Jack's waiting hand.

He quickly read the paper, then crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.  "Surely Ben must have been delusional or under some sort of medication when he wrote that.  Doesn't he realize the security risk involved?"

"For whom?" Kendall asked pointedly.  Jack glared at him.

"Believe it or not, Jack, I'm on your side on this one," he said as he picked up the phone.  "Mr. Devlin," he said into the receiver.  "This is Agent Kendall . . . yes, I just read your memo about Thompson.  I've discussed this with Jack Bristow and we both feel that—you what?"  He covered the receiver with his hand.  "She's already been given clearance into Joint Ops," he muttered.  "She's on her way now."

Jack grabbed the phone out of Kendall's hand.  "Ben, have you lost your mind?" he erupted.  "What could _possibly_ possess you to bring her into this situation?  How could this help anything . . . I don't care what op she's working on, it's still a ludicrous proposition.  And besides, she'll never go for it—no, not Thompson, Ben—can you try to stay with me here?"

He listened intently for a minute, then sighed wearily.  "You're going to regret this, Ben.  I just hope others aren't hurt in the process."  Jack hung up the phone and turned to face Kendall.

"Devlin's calling the security team right now to add Thompson to the list of people she can see," Kendall told Jack.

"There's one small comfort in this," Jack replied.

"What?"

"She'll never talk to her."

*********


	2. Requests

**_Two—Requests_**

"You dropped one," the driver said as she followed Madison through the parking garage.

"Thanks," she said gratefully, taking the shopping bag from the driver's hand.  "I appreciate it."

"Not a problem.  Will you need anything once we get inside?"

"If you wouldn't mind pointing me in the direction of the bathroom?  I'd like to change into something a bit more professional than jeans and a shirt for this meeting," Madison said, looking down at her casual wardrobe.

"Of course.  Your first time here?" the driver asked courteously.

"Yeah," Madison admitted, wondering again what had possessed her to request this.

"Don't worry; you'll learn your way around the place before you know it," she encouraged as she waved her badge to the security guards.

"I hope so."

"So, are you ready?" the driver asked, her hand on the doorknob.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Madison replied, the butterflies in her stomach dancing around rapidly.

The door swung open and the pair stepped inside.

"Welcome, Agent Thompson, to the Joint Ops Center."

*********

"She's here."

Jack quickly scanned the area.  "Where?"

"Changing in the bathroom."

"Thompson managed to get here quickly," he pointed out.

Kendall nodded grimly.  "I suspect that Devlin's known about this for more than a few hours."  He paused.  "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about that now."

"So much for laying low," he commented as she entered the room, catching the eye of most of the agents in the room.  Jack, too, watched her every move, although he felt a surge of protectiveness and pity for her.  Thompson reminded him of Sydney in a way, and after reading her mission specs, he knew her op was in many ways more challenging than anything his daughter had ever undertaken.

That did not, however, excuse her for making this ludicrous request.

"Agent Kendall?"  Madison held out her hand.

"Grace Thompson, I presume?" he said, shaking her hand.

Madison nodded.  "Actually, it's Madison these days, sir," she corrected.  _Although I must admit it's nice to hear my real name again, she silently added._

Kendall ignored her statement and continued.  "Agent Jack Bristow," he said, waving his hand towards Jack.

"Pleased to meet you," Madison said enthusiastically as she shook his hand.  She received a curt nod in response.  "I take it you two are aware of the purpose of my visit?"

"Agent Thompson, are you certain you want to do this?"

Madison stared at them.  "Why wouldn't I be?  I need all the assistance I can get before this op starts—I'm making the first contact next week, in case you weren't aware.  These interviews are viable research to make me more convincing."

"Interviews?  Plural?" Jack questioned between gritted teeth.

"Yes.  Mr. Devlin has granted me permission to interview her as many times as I need to, so long as it does not endanger my cover."

Kendall and Jack exchanged a look.  Obviously, Devlin was willing to play hardball, whether they were interested or not.

"Now, if one of you could kindly point me the direction of the agent I'm interviewing, I would appreciate it."

Another look shared.  "Follow me."  Jack marched away, Madison trailing behind.

The pair continued further and further into the depths of the Joint Task Center, walking through a myriad of hallways that found Madison struggling to keep her bearings.  At last, Jack stopped in front of a uniformed guard.

"Agent Thompson.  She was put on the list today," Jack jerked his head towards Madison.

The guard nodded.  "Authorization came in about thirty minutes ago."

Jack turned to face Madison.  "From here you will be taken to see the prisoner."

"Prisoner?  But I was told—"

"You were told that you would interview an agent.  Devlin conveniently forgot to mention she's not one of ours."  He moved past her and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Madison called.  "Can you at least tell me her name?"

Jack halted at her question.  Slowly, he turned around and stared into her bright blue eyes.

"Derevko.  The prisoner's name is Irina Derevko."

*********

"Are you ready?"

Madison ran a hand through her short hair and closed her eyes.  _You can do this, Grace.  You _have_ to.  Collecting herself, she looked at the guard._

"Take me to the prisoner," she commanded.

The guard blinked.  The change in her was apparent.  The woman who now stood in front of him . . . oh, how he wished he ran the audio surveillance with the prisoner.  The agent in charge of that was certain to get an earful in a moment.

Wordlessly he led her further down the hallway to another guard.  Madison ignored their conversation, staring ahead at the series of barriers that awaited her.  This Derevko agent . . . what had she done to merit such protection?

_Someday, will this be me, locked up because of my job?_

A few minutes later, her reverie was interrupted.  "You're clear.  Good luck, ma'am."

"Thanks," she muttered as she began her slow descent into the darkest corner the CIA had to offer her.

*********

Irina continued to stare at the page she was reading as she heard footsteps.  Short, quick steps, probably made by someone much shorter than Jack or Sydney.  Yet the clickety-clack sounded similar to the sound her daughter's feet would make when she wasn't in running shoes.  She guessed her visitor was a woman, no more than five feet five inches.

"Ms. Derevko?"  A woman's voice.  A strong voice, one without trembling or nervousness.

Nonetheless, Irina could smell her fear.

"Ms. Derevko, I'm Agent Thompson.  I am here to ask you a few questions about an operation you were a part of many years ago."

Irina closed her book and placed it on her bed.  She waited several minutes before looking up at this woman from her place on the floor.  She had been correct when she assessed her height.  Her short, black hair framed her face, and she looked at the world with piercing blue eyes—contacts, Irina presumed.

"I have been given authorization to speak with you by Mr. Devlin, CIA Deputy Director.  I do not wish to waste your time, but I must speak with you regarding one of your missions."

Thompson's approach was different than other agents who tried to speak with her; Irina had to give her credit for that.  She made it sound like Irina was a woman surrounded by mounds of papers and deadlines instead of a prisoner in a cold, bare cell.

Silence.

She swallowed and tried again.  "I have been told that you were an agent sent on a deep cover operation to infiltrate an enemy of your organization."  She focused on Irina's face; she gave nothing away.  "Is that correct?"

The ticking of her watch was the only sound she heard.

"Who sent you here?"

_Finally._  "Excuse me?"

"Who. Sent. You. Here."

"I asked Mr. Devlin if there were any agents who had participated in this kind of mission.  You were the only one available.  I requested this meeting myself," Madison truthfully answered.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

"Three months ago I was pulled off an op in Colombia.  My new orders were to move to Los Angeles and assume a new identity."

Irina slowly stood up from her perch on the floor.

"Next week I will make my first contact with a man the CIA believes is involved in biological warfare.  I have been ordered to make his acquaintance, to make him fall in love with me, to earn his trust so that he will tell me his secrets."

She saw that Derevko knew where this was headed, but she continued.  She had to.

"I am under orders to seduce a man for intelligence . . . just like you."

*********


	3. A Successful Mission

**_Three—A Successful _****_Mission_****__**

"She won't speak to me."

Jack flipped through the pages in a thick file folder.  "Derevko only speaks to certain agents, and only regarding certain missions."

"Well, make this mission one of them."

He looked up at Madison, slight surprise flashing across his face before his mask returned.  "No."

"No?"  She stared, challenging him.

"No," he repeated, turning back to his reading.

"Why not?"

"Agent Thompson, you're a fine agent.  This"—he indicated the folder—"demonstrates your abilities in analysis as well as in the field.  Helsinki.  Vienna.  Bogotá."

She nodded, waiting for his implied "but."

"However, I do not think this mission is a wise one.  It is poorly planned and ill-advised and should be aborted immediately."

"No offense, sir, but have you read the mission specs?  This threat of biological warfare is not imagined; it is very real.  We finally have a lead, a _solid_ lead, that can help us stop this before it starts.  We have names, but nothing that we can use in a court of law.

"If I can insinuate myself into Burke's life, just think how much intel I can obtain that we can use.  Contacts, research . . . we can see how much progress they are making, damage the research they do have . . . the possibilities are endless."

Madison paused and drew in a deep breath.  "But I'll be honest.  None of my ops in the past have truly prepared me for this one.  I want—no, I _need_—to speak with someone who has successfully completed this type of mission.  Someone who understands what it will be like, who knows the risks involved."

"'Someone who has successfully completed this type of mission,'" Jack repeated.  His eyes narrowed.  "What exactly do you know about Derevko's mission?" he asked in a tight voice.

She had obviously struck a nerve, although she wasn't sure why.  "She met and married an intelligence officer, gathered intel from him when he wasn't looking, and sent it back to her superiors.  I don't know specifics, but I have been told she was successful."

"By whom?"

"Mr. Devlin."

"Really."

"Yes," she replied, wondering why Agent Bristow was taking this so personally . . . "_Oh_."

"What?" he questioned, a hint of fear in his eyes.

"I—I just thought of a new way to interrogate Derevko," she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind.  "Do you think it would be all right if I tried again?"

"That is up to you, Agent Thompson.  However, I would not trust her too much.  She is, after all, trained in the art of deception."  Jack turned around and closed the file folder, adding it to a stack of papers on his desk.

Madison turned and walked away, realizing that she now had to face Derevko again.  She repeated her journey into the depths of the Joint Task Center, proud that she found her way back to the guards without getting lost.

"You again?" the guard smirked.  She nodded.  "What, you didn't get enough the first time?"

It was time to put her game face on again, time to put pricks like him in his place.  She stared at him with cold eyes.

"Take me to the prisoner."

*********

"We meet again."

Madison stared at Irina, surprise etched across her face.  "Yes, we do.  Ms. Derevko, I really do need to speak with you."

"Do you," she mused.

"Yes.  There are so many questions I have . . . and you're the only person I can talk to about this."

Silence.

"Don't."

"Don't what?" Madison asked.

"Don't let the CIA order you around.  You don't have to take this mission.  Refuse it.  Back away from all of this before it's too late," she said in an impassioned voice.

"Refuse?" she echoed.

"You must be fairly intelligent, or they would have never recruited you," Irina smirked.  "Think this through before you get involved in something you will regret."  She nodded and turned, walking back to her bed.  She sat down and began to read again.

"Ms. Derevko, please.  I must speak with you."

"The only thing you _must_ do is reconsider your assignment," Irina said, looking up at Madison's worried face.  "Everything else will fall into place."

It didn't matter that Madison stood there for two hours, that she saw the dinner tray being delivered and later picked up, food untouched.  Irina continued to stare at the pages of her book, studiously ignoring her surroundings.  Frustrated, Madison finally returned down the long hallway, the gates clanging around her as she made her escape.

At last Irina lifted her head and turned up the corners of her mouth.  It was so easy with these young agents.  They didn't understand the concept of waiting out their opponent.

Of course, they would also never understand the many layers of Irina Derevko.

*********

"You're sure that this agent won't be needing his desk?" Madison double-checked.

"No, he's gone for the night.  He's got hockey tickets.  Didn't invite me _this time either," the dark-haired agent pouted.  "Ever since his girlfriend quit her second job, _she's_ been enjoying front row seats to all the Kings games."_

"Oh," Madison said, unsure how to respond.  "Thanks for finding me an open cubicle.  I've just got to make one phone call, and then I'll be out of your way."

"No problem," he said, stuffing his right hand into the pocket of his suit jacket.  He walked away, whistling and pulling out a bright red yo-yo.

Madison watched him disappear into the madness of the Joint Ops Center before picking up the phone.  She quickly dialed her number and waited.

"Hello, Mr. Devlin?  This is Agent Thompson.  The prisoner is being uncooperative and refuses to—what?  Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, sir.  Yes, contact will begin on whichever day Burke is more accessible.  By Monday?  I should be able to return here on Monday . . . but are you certain she'll talk?  Okay, Mr. Devlin.  Yes, sir.  Yes, sir.  Good-bye, sir."  She hung up the phone and sighed.

And pitied the unlucky soul who had been given the job to talk to her.

*********


	4. Support

**_Four—Support_**

He walked slowly, his stomach churning.  In his many years at the CIA, he had seen and done everything, or so he had thought.  Lying, stealing, murder . . . all was fair game in the world of espionage.

This was not.

This went above and beyond the call of duty.  This boiled down to a short-handed office and an old friend who somehow either failed to see the irony in the situation or needed a good laugh later when he reviewed the cell tapes.

He continued walking, slowing his pace.  Avoiding the inevitable.

_Left.__  Pause.  Right.  Pause._

All too soon he arrived at his destination.

"Jack," she said without turning around.  "It's been awhile."

"Yes, it has," he said between clenched teeth.

"How's Sydney?"

"Fine," he answered in a detached voice as he stared at her back.  Noticed how her hair cascaded down her shoulders.  Quickly banished the thought from his mind.

"We need you to talk to Thompson," Jack began without preamble.

Irina turned and sauntered towards him.  "No."

"That was not a question," he warned.

"Nor was it an order," she retorted.

"Your obligation to this agency extends beyond the Alliance.  You _will_ talk to her."  He glared.

"I cannot help someone whose mission I do not support," she said, leaning towards the glass, her eyes flashing.

"You don't have to support the mission.  Just talk to her."

She smirked.  "Is that what your superiors told _you_?"

He fought the urge to curl his hands into fists.  Instead, he pulled a piece of paper out of his suit jacket.

"Agent Grace Thompson."  He rolled the paper up and slid it through to Irina's waiting hand.  "AKA Madison Greene.  Age twenty-eight.  Recruited junior year, College of William and Mary.  Three years in analysis at Langley; advanced quickly.  Requested field training.  Served as point person on various ops overseas before leading teams of her own."

"Thompson led the team in Vienna?" Irina interrupted, staring at the page.

"Yes."

"Impressive."  At Jack's surprised look, she shrugged slightly.  "She outwitted my team of new recruits.  Obviously, I underestimated her."

He paused, blinking, before he resumed.  "She was extracted from a deep cover operation in Bogotá last October.  Since then she has established her new identity—residence, career, friends.  Meanwhile, the CIA has been tracking Burke."  Jack looked squarely in her eyes.  "We've waited long enough.  Phase two of this op begins in the next seventy-two hours."

"You still have not indicated _why I should talk to her.  This"—she held up the paper in her hand—"tells me she is more than ready for another deep cover mission."_

"In many ways, Thompson and Sydney are similar," Jack said.  "Their ages, their number of years in intelligence, the commendations that fill their personnel files.  But they are two very different agents.  Yes, they are both field trained, and yes, they have both served on many high-risk operations.

"But Thompson has never had to fight a guard in heels or walk through a party in a cocktail dress to gain intel.  She's good at her job and has the full backing of this agency—but she hasn't spent the last eight years flirting with men of questionable backgrounds and the like in the name of serving her country.  In many ways, Sydney would be more prepared for this op than Thompson is right now."

"Are you suggesting that our daughter—"

"No, Sydney will not be participating in this op in any way," Jack interrupted.  "Even if she was willing—which she wouldn't be—I would forbid it."

"I thought when the CIA gives you an order, you can't say no," she pointed out.

"There are ways," he said grimly.  "There are ways."

She stared at the grainy photo at the top of the page, noticing how young Thompson looked.  An ear-splitting smile, no worry lines on her face.

It was like looking at the old photograph in Sydney's SD-6 file that she had copied years earlier.  The happiness, the innocence still intact.

"Have you tried other methods of gaining information on this Burke?" she finally asked.

"Yes."  She could tell he was unwilling to elaborate.

She sighed and stared at the photograph again.  

_Her ticket to __America__ had been purchased.  She would leave in the morning and begin her most important mission to date._

_"Don't fail me," Cuvee's words echoed in her mind._

_"I won't," she vowed, willing her voice not to tremble.  Irina was loyal to her country and its cause.  That did not stop the cold fear that had settled in her stomach.  She was moving to a new place with a new language, new customs, new people—one person in particular._

_If only she had someone to confide in, someone who could comfort her, not just give her orders . . ._

Irina looked up into Jack's waiting eyes.  "I'll talk to her."

_tbc_


	5. Contact

**_Five—Contact_**

"Hi, can you tell me how to get tickets to the concert at the Shrine?" a cheery woman asked.

"I'm sorry, none of our artists are currently booked for Shrine Auditorium," Madison said into the phone as she right-clicked her mouse.

"My mistake."

Madison glanced at the time on her monitor as she replaced the receiver.  It was a bit early, but it would have to do.  "Anybody want anything from the sub shop?" she called out.

"No thanks."

"Nah, I brought my lunch today."

"Meeting one of the producers at twelve-thirty."

"Okay.  Back in a few," she called as she grabbed her jacket.  She walked through the door at the front of the office with the "Bannen Records" stencil.  She exited the building and continued her journey to the sub shop two blocks down the road.

The bell rang as she walked inside.  "Madison!" an older woman exclaimed.  "Haven't seen you in a few days."

"Hey, Dorothy," Madison said, leaning over the counter to give her a hug.  "Did you have a good weekend?"

"I sure did.  My daughter and son-in-law went out of town, so I got to keep my granddaughter overnight," Dorothy replied, her Southern drawl intensifying.

"How old is she now?"

"Seven months," Dorothy beamed.  "And she's the smartest little girl you've ever seen."

"I'll bet," Madison agreed with a smile.  She was glad this was one of the places chosen as a safe meet.  Dorothy was one of the true friends she had made in the last few months; she reminded her in some ways of a favorite aunt.  Or her mother.

"So, are you eating in today or rushing back to that all-important computer?"

"All the artists' web sites are up-to-date, so I'll stick around today."

"Good!  The usual?"

Madison nodded.

"Grab a table and I'll get it right out to you."  Dorothy yelled the order before greeting a customer who had just walked in the door.

Madison sat down at a booth in the back of the shop and folded her hands on the table.

"There's been a change of plans."  A low voice, almost a whisper, came from the booth behind her.

"What?"

"We just received word that Burke is leaving on a business trip tomorrow morning.  He'll be gone until Thursday."

Her heart sank.  By Thursday she would be following one of the bands around on their first two concert dates.  This change in the schedule would set them back another week . . .

" . . . so we're initiating contact tonight."

"_Tonight_?"  She fought to keep her voice down.  "But—but that's too soon!" she whispered urgently.

"You're ready," he assured her.  "We know that Burke has to buy a birthday present for a niece before he leaves.  He's supposed to do that tonight.  Work late; have your cell handy.  We'll give you the location then."

Madison leaned her head back against the vinyl seat.  Tonight.  The moment she had alternately looked forward to and dreaded was almost here.

"Here's your lunch, dear," Dorothy said, setting a plate and glass down in front of her.

"Thanks," she said, opening her eyes.

Dorothy placed the bill on the table.  "Everything okay?"

"Fine," she lied.  "Just a little tired."  She faked a yawn and stretched, turning her head towards the voice as she did.

He was gone.

*********

_Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fift--  Irina_ paused, her arms straight, her body lifted off the ground.  _Footsteps . . ._ just a lackey picking up her dinner tray.  She fought the urge to roll her eyes and resumed her push-ups.

Thompson was supposed to visit today.  Even though Irina was not looking forward to their conversation, it would break up the monotony of yet another dreary day alone in her cell.

She should have been here by now.

_"We've waited long enough.  Phase two of this op begins in the next seventy-two hours."_  Jack's words echoed in her mind.  It would begin tomorrow at the latest . . .

Unless something had happened.

And they sent her in early.

She briefly closed her eyes and hoped that Thompson didn't destroy the op before it began.

*********

"We're tailing him now."  Madison held the cell phone away from her ear, absorbing the words.  Shaking her head, she placed the phone in her purse before resuming her work.

"How late are you staying?" Fiona, the perky administrative assistant, asked her twenty minutes later.

Madison glanced at her watch.  "Not much longer.  Just trying to work ahead so that the sites won't have to be updated for a few days.  I'm gone Thursday and Friday, remember?"

"Oh yeah.  Where are they playing?"

"San Diego and Seattle.  After that, they're on their own," she said with a grin.  "Can't hold their hands forever, you know."

"You mean that wasn't listed in your 'web mistress/promotions/everything-else-because-it's-an-indie-label' job description?" Fiona asked innocently.

"Nope.  In fact—" she was cut off by a beeping noise.  She reached down and grabbed her phone.  One new text message, unidentified caller.  _Go._

"Everything okay?" Fiona asked.

"Yeah.  Just a friend in need," Madison hurriedly explained as she shut her computer down.  "You know, I think I will call it a night.  You should get going too," she added as she placed the cap on her ballpoint pen, depositing it in the canister on her spotless desk.

"Yes, Mom," she teased, rolling her eyes.  "Have a good night.  Good luck with your friend," she added as Madison walked down the hallway.

"Thanks," she called back, willing her stomach to calm down as she stepped out into the cool night air.  She walked towards the parking garage next door, eyes carefully trained for anything amiss.

And then she saw them.  A man and woman, walking directly towards her.  His right arm around her shoulders, her left arm around his waist.  Talking and laughing as if they were the only two people in the world.  She noticed the woman slip her hand into her purse, then use the same hand to cup the man's face as their lips met.  He reached up to grab her hand, their fingers entwining for a brief moment before the pair continued on their journey.

Madison continued walking, her purse slung over her right shoulder, her left arm down by her side, her hand open.  She smiled and nodded at the happy couple, noticing her dimples and wide smile, his green eyes and furrowed brow, as she accepted the small piece of paper from the man.  Her hand curled into a tight fist as she entered the parking garage, taking the elevator to the fourth floor.  She quickly unlocked her car and stepped inside, putting the key in the ignition immediately.  Only then did she uncurl her hand and flatten out the folded sheet of paper.  She breathed deeply as she read the address, trying to calm her nerves, then sped out of the garage and out into the busy streets of Los Angeles.

*********

"The brush pass was a success," Devlin heard when he picked up his phone.  "Bookworm has the location and is on her way."

"Are you sure?" he asked as he stared at the mounds of papers on his desk.

"Positive.  She pulled out of the garage five minutes ago."

"All right.  Good work."  He hung up the phone and looked back at his desk.  Sighing, he lifted the receiver again and dialed a familiar number.  "Honey, I don't think I'll be home for another few hours . . ."

*********

"Good evening, miss.  Do you need any assistance?" a clerk asked courteously as Madison stepped through the door.

She turned to him and smiled.  "No thanks.  I'm just browsing for now.  This is an adorable store," she said honestly.

"Your first visit, I presume?"

She nodded.  "But definitely not my last."  She grinned ruefully.  "I have a slight obsession with children's books.  And the multitude of unpacked boxes to prove it."

"Well, if you need anything, just let me know," he said as he continued to organize the books in the display window.

"Thanks," she replied as she walked through the store.  There were several customers—mostly mothers with small children—but Burke was nowhere to be seen.  She wandered through the entire store twice, stopping periodically to glance at a title or check a price sticker.  He wasn't here—yet his car was in the parking lot.  She rolled her eyes heavenward, frustrated.

"Mom, I'm going upstairs!"  Madison whirled around towards the voice in time to see a girl, perhaps ten or eleven, skip to the back of the store and open a door that Madison had presumed to be a closet.  _Bingo.  She followed the girl's path to the door and found herself at the bottom of a staircase.  She quickly climbed the stairs and found herself in what appeared to be the young adult section.  Several children sat in bean bags reading or wandered the aisles.  And there, standing in the middle of one of the aisles, was Burke, reading the back of a paperback novel._

Heart pounding, she ran a hand through her hair and began browsing the aisles, periodically checking to make sure he was there.  After several minutes she wandered over to his aisle.

"Excuse me," she said, brushing past him.  He quickly stepped back, allowing her to step in front of him.

The two perused titles for a few minutes in silence.  Madison opened her mouth to speak when she was interrupted.

"What did you read when you were eight?" he blurted out.  Surprised, she turned to face him.  "I'm sorry, that was rude of me.  It's just that my niece's birthday is this week and I have no idea . . ."  He trailed off, and she smiled encouragingly.  _Maybe this will be easier than I thought._

He held out his hand.  "My name's Christopher.  Christopher Burke."

She extended her hand and shook his.  "Madison Greene."

"Madison," Christopher repeated slowly, a smile spreading across his face.  "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Her smile matched his as she replied, "The pleasure is all mine."


	6. Striking

**_Six—Striking_**

Madison turned the key in the ignition and let the motor idle for a few minutes while she adjusted the heat and selected a CD to listen to.  She glanced at the seat beside her, noticing the large bag containing six new books, including two in hard cover.  She smiled ruefully.  Even if she did have a new identity, some things apparently never changed.

She shifted the car into reverse and looked behind her, making sure that there were no children running about in the parking lot.  She slowly eased the car out of its spot and inched towards the street.  She had only passed by one car when she realized that she was being watched.

Burke was sitting in his car, watching her leave the store.  At best he was being a gentleman, making sure that her car started and worked properly before leaving himself.  At worst he was suspicious of her and planned on tailing her.

Madison doubted, however, that if he was going to tail her he would wave enthusiastically when he noticed her eyes on him.  Smiling in return, she quickly refocused on her driving and turned left onto the street, beginning the twenty-five minute trek to her apartment.

*********

A crumpled paper bag was tossed onto the table.  "Bookworm dead dropped this at location four about twenty minutes ago."

Devlin picked it up gingerly.  "The gas station?"

"Correct."

He opened it and nodded to the junior agent, who quickly scurried out the door.  A few minutes later he smiled in satisfaction.

Phase two was finally underway.

*********

Bethany padded to the front door, a steaming cup of coffee.  She blearily peered through the peep hole, her eyes widening in surprise.  "What are you doing here at this hour?" she asked as she opened the door.

"My flight leaves in ninety minutes," he said as he handed the wrapped box to his sister.  "I wanted to drop this off for Lea's birthday before I left."

Yawning, she accepted the colorful box.  "I thought you were coming by last night, Chris."

Christopher smiled apologetically.  "I was going to, but I got delayed at work, and then it took me forever to pick out a present.  But I think Madison and I finally found something that she'll like."

"Well, that's good that you and—wait a minute.  Who's Madison?"

Bethany watched in amusement as her younger brother's ears turned pink.  "Just this woman at the bookstore.  That's all."

"Sure," she teased, noticing how he fidgeted and refused to look her in the eye.  "So Madison works there?"

"Actually, she was a customer too," he finally admitted.

"So you talk to all the fellow customers now?"

"Bethany," he warned.

She held up her hands in mock surrender.  "Fine, fine.  But if you'd ever like to introduce me to this Madison lady . . ."

Christopher leaned down and hugged her quickly.  "I've gotta go."

She sighed and ruffled his hair.  "Have a safe flight.  I'll have Lea call your cell tonight after she opens her present."

He nodded and turned to leave.  "Oh, and Bethany?"

"Yeah?"

"About Madison . . . keep your fingers crossed."  His impromptu grin stayed with her long after the door had closed behind him.

*********

"As many of you know, we have been watching Pyper-Ferguson Industries, one of the nation's leading pharmaceutical companies, for the past three years," Devlin told the group of agents seated in the conference room.  "Four months ago Pyper-Ferguson acquired Kelley Laboratories, which has had ties to K-Directorate in the past.

"Thanks to Agent Bentley," Devlin gestured to the young man, "we have acquired intel from the Middle East that indicates Kelley Laboratories is producing biological weapons in secret that are for sale to the highest bidder on the black market."

"What kind of weapons?" an agent inquired.

"We don't know.  After investigating for a month, we extracted a field agent and placed her solely on this operation.  Phase two began last week."  Kendall looked around the room, making sure he had everyone's attention.  "An agent has been ordered to seduce this man," a picture flashed across a screen, "for intel.  The man you see before you is Christopher Burke, a senior researcher at Pyper-Ferguson.  He has been with the company since his graduation from MIT.  His current assignment is to head up the transition for Kelley Laboratories."

"How was he chosen?  Why him and not someone else who already worked for the lab?"

"Bentley's sources have indicated that Burke has met with known terrorists recently," Devlin began before being interrupted.

"Burke is an intelligent man who has little or no experience with women.  He's close in age to Agent Thompson, and they will make a striking couple for photographs.  Obviously, he's the perfect choice," Jack said in a dry, measured tone.

"Jack," Devlin warned.  He was met with a stony glare.  Backing down, he turned to face the group of agents.  "Thompson's mission is to uncover the biological weapons.  Once they have been located, we will dismantle them and take the masterminds into custody."

The meeting ended a few minutes later, and Jack found himself walking behind two younger agents as they exited the room.

"I can't believe Grace took this job, especially with her dad and all," one said, sticking a pencil behind her blonde hair.

"I know.  I never would have expected it from her," the second agent agreed.  "I did hear she had help though," she continued conspiratorially.  "Do you know from who?"

The first agent shrugged.  "I haven't heard anything," she admitted.

"The prisoner that they've got locked up down here—you know, Derevko?  _She's_ going to be helping Grace."

She whistled.  "Is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?"

Jack smiled inwardly.  Finally, someone who agreed with him.  Perhaps some of these new kids would make good agents.

*********

The guard at the end of the hallway slouched, tired and a bit hung over after a late night of drinking with his buddies.  "All I ever do is push a button so someone can see the damn prisoner," he muttered to himself.  He tried to console himself with the fact that at least he _had_ a job, and between this and his second job he could afford some of the nicer things in life.

It wasn't making the ringing in his ears go away, though.

He groaned as he heard footsteps down the hall, then stood up straight as he noted the attractive woman approaching him.  "It's about time a hot chick came this way," he said in a low voice.  "Oh.  It's _her_."  His shoulders immediately sank as he watched the dark-haired agent scan her badge and walk the final steps towards him.

She nodded at him.  "I'm here to see the prisoner."

He willed himself not to glare at her, even as he noted the short black dress she was wearing, complete with fuc—stiletto heels.

She tapped a foot impatiently.  "Well?" she prompted.

He came out of his reverie, focusing on the smirk he saw on her face.  Turning, he punched in a code and watched as the gates began to open.  She quickly marched past him, swinging her hips as she journeyed down the corridor.

He groaned, knowing it would be a long night.  "You're _welcome," he muttered sarcastically to himself._

**********

"Hot date tonight?"

Madison stilled at the words.  Had Irina Derevko actually said _that to her?  She quickly looked at her, noting what might be called a genuine smile on her face._

"Um—well—" Madison said, flustered.

"I take it your first contact with this man went well, Grace."  Her face returned to what Madison was learning to be her typical expression, mysterious—devoid yet full of emotion.

She nodded.  "It went pretty well," she said, running her hands down her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles.  "I'm meeting him later tonight for dinner."

Irina nodded approvingly.  "Not too fast, not too slow.  You're making it look like the beginning of a genuine relationship."

Was that what she was doing?  "Exactly," she said with a confidence she didn't feel.  "We've talked a few times on the phone, and Burke e-mailed me while he was out of town."  Madison paused, wondering how to continue, when suddenly she found herself saying the next thing that came to mind.  "You called me by my real name.  Isn't that a bad idea?"

Irina shook her head.  "Quite the opposite.  You don't want to run the risk of growing accustomed to your fictional life.  Things such as hearing your true given name when possible will help keep you grounded in reality."

"It is nice to hear 'Grace' instead of 'Madison,'" she admitted.  "Thanks."

The two stared at each other, willing the other to speak.  Irina, of course, was the victor in this competition, as Madison began her interrogation.

"I bet you've counseled others before," she said casually, remembering the information she had dug up on "The Man" in the last week.  "Other agents who had to infiltrate the enemy."

"Of course," Irina acceded.  "But none ever completed this kind of mission.  I wouldn't allow it."

Madison stared at her curiously.  "Why not?"

"It never ends well," Irina replied finally.  "Too many unnecessary people get hurt in the process.  It's not worth the little intel the agent acquires."

At Madison's surprised expression, Irina allowed herself a small smile.  "Even I have limits."


	7. Prey

**_Seven—Prey_**

"Spill."  Fiona stared down at her, an amused expression on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Madison asked, stalling as she quickly minimized the window on her computer and locked it.

"You have been staring at the screen for the last hour, your hand gripping that mouse of yours—"

"So?  I'm working," she retorted.  "Remember?  Web mistress?"

"Let me finish," Fiona shot back.  "And now all of a sudden, you get this look on your face, lean towards the screen for about a minute, and then just sit back, still staring, but not so intently."  She gave her a meaningful look.  "Come on, Madison.  You've been doing this every day for almost two weeks now.  Are you positive there's nothing you'd like to tell me?"

Madison ducked her head, trying to keep the grin from splitting her face.  It was just too easy.  "I was waiting for an important e-mail, that's all," she said casually when she regained her composure.

"An important e-mail from . . ." she prompted.

"A friend."

Fiona snickered.  "'A friend,'" she repeated, lifting her hands to gesture quotation marks.  "Now there's a loaded word—are we talking about a friend, a friend friend, or more than a friend?"

"Just a friend.  Although I'd love to hear about the difference between those three sometime," she said with a smile.

"Sure, I bet you would.  But I'm not falling for _that_," Fiona said triumphantly.  "Now really—who is this friend?"

"Nobody you know."  At Fiona's hopeful expression, she finally decided to pacify her.  "Yet."

Fiona squealed.  "I knew it!"

"The whole office doesn't need to hear about it," Madison whispered as she shot a glance around the room.

"Fine.  We're going to lunch, and you, my friend, are spilling your guts.  Come on, get your coat."  Fiona guided her down the hallway.

"So where do you want to go?"

"How about that sub shop you love?"

"Works for me."

*********

Irina looked at Jack intently through the glass of her cell.  "I promise you, Jack, she knows nothing about us."

He glowered.  "_Us?"_

"Grace knows I married a CIA agent, but I've never mentioned you in our discussions.  She does most of the talking."  She stared at him, noting his raised eyebrow.  "She doesn't know I was under orders to marry you."

His expression returned to its usual mask.  "I disagree."

"Naturally," she muttered, exasperated.

"The first day she was here . . . I think she figured it out," he finally admitted.

"Oh."

"But I believe you—that you didn't tell her," he said haltingly.  Their eyes locked, and Irina opened her mouth to speak.  Instead, Jack cut her off.  "Women who are sent on these types of missions must have a sixth sense that allows them to identify their prey."  Jack stalked away, clutching the intel he had gained during their meeting.

Irina watched him leave and then sat on the bed, finally leaning back and letting her head rest on the pillow.  If she was supposed to be the hunter and him the prey in this game, why didn't it feel that way?

*********

"But that's a kid's book!" Christopher argued later that night.

Madison shook her head vigorously from her side of the booth.  "No, it's a _classic_," she corrected as the waiter silently placed the check on the table.

"Isn't classic just another word for old?" he pointed out.

She shook her head dismissively.  "No, it is not, and don't you dare mock my favorite book, Christopher Burke."

He held up his hands in mock surrender.  "Uh-oh, first _and last name."  He pulled his wallet out and removed a credit card, handing it to the waiter when he returned to the table._

"Wait a sec—I thought it was my turn to pay," Madison rummaged through her purse.

"Too late," he grinned triumphantly.

She scowled.  "You just love doing that, don't you," she muttered.

"I do, I really do," he agreed with a smirk.  "And don't think that the evil eye's going to work on me."

"Really," she said menacingly.

He laughed in response.  "Do you really think you could scare me?"  She glared at him for a moment before a smile began to form.  "You are many things, Madison, but scary is not one of them."  He paused to add the tip and quickly signed the bill.

"How about this," she proposed.  "I promise not to be too scary—" her eyes narrowed at his quickly smothered chuckle—"and you promise not to make fun of _Little Women_."

He held out his hand and wrapped it around her smaller hand, shaking it firmly.  "Promise," he said solemnly.

"Good."  The pair stood and exited the restaurant.  Madison absent-mindedly hit the keyless entry button on her key ring as they walked into the parking lot.

"Well," Christopher began hesitantly, forcing himself to look into her eyes rather than the ground.

"I had a great time tonight," Madison jumped in.

"Me too."  The couple quietly stood next to their cars, hesitant to cut the evening short.

"Why don't you follow me back to my apartment?"  Madison offered.  "That is, if you're not too tired," she hastily added.

Christopher smiled warmly.  "And miss the opportunity to finally see where you live?  Not a chance."  He walked over and opened her car door for her.  "I'll see you in a few minutes."

"In a few minutes," she agreed in a low voice as she inwardly rejoiced.

With any luck, they were well on their way to phase three.

*********

"This has come to our attention.  I thought you would want to know."  The man passed a piece of paper across the desk to the man seated in the leather chair.

He looked at the paper quickly, then placed it on the desk.  "This agent has made contact with Burke?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Yes."

"When?"

The man hesitated.  "Three weeks ago," he admitted.

"And we're just discovering this now?  Interesting.  You can go."

The man quickly exited the room.

Sark leaned back in the chair and reexamined the communiqué.  That he was just finding out about this Agent Thompson was unacceptable.

He picked up the phone and dialed.  His agents needed to be taught a lesson.

"Yes, I'm ordering the assassination of one of our agents . . ."

*********

"Good night, Christopher."  Smiling, Madison closed the door behind her.  She slowly locked the front door of her apartment and sighed, leaning against it.  It was tiring, taking on a new persona, but she was finally beginning to see signs that this op might work.  Burke seemed to be interested in her—in Madison, she corrected herself—and had even casually made mention of his laboratory.  Hopefully in the next week she would get to see that laboratory for herself.

She turned out the lights in the living room and kitchen; after grabbing her pajamas from the bed and a towel from the linen closet, she made her way to the bathroom.  She stepped into the shower and closed her eyes, trying to focus her thoughts on something other than Christopher Burke and this complicated mission.

Several minutes later, Madison slowly stepped out of the shower and pulled her pajamas on.  She used her towel to wipe off the steam that had collected on the mirror before wrapping it around her hair like a turban.

She stared at the image in front of her.  This was one of the few times of the day when she could take a deep breath and be Grace again, even if it was for just a few minutes.  With her hair covered up, it was easier to pretend that her blonde curls were hiding underneath the thick towel, that on the other side of her bathroom door was her old apartment, complete with bright colors, too much furniture, and an enormous collection of children's books.  Not the sparsely furnished, mostly beige apartment the CIA had given her.

Every night, she watched herself, transfixed by the image, as she brushed her teeth, her hair still covered.  She continued to stare as the towel came tumbling down her shoulders into a puddle on the floor, as she pulled her bright, shiny blue comb out of the top left drawer and ran it through her hair, as she grabbed the hair dryer that was too high-tech for her tastes—it was, after all, just a hair dryer—and slowly watched her hair fall into place in its new, short hair style, now in the dark hue she had always longed for as a child.  The memory made her laugh sardonically now—she hadn't realized at the time what it would involve for her wish for dark hair to come true.

But tonight, seeing Grace in the mirror, even if for a few minutes, wasn't enough.  Madison abruptly turned the hair dryer off and placed it on the counter.  She stared in the mirror, willing herself to see the person that lurked beneath the shadows.  It was getting harder with each passing day to find her.

"Grace.  Grace Thompson," she murmured to herself.  She felt a bit of relief in the pit of her stomach.  She repeated her name and smiled.

She had to be Madison all day long, for the sake of her job.  But perhaps, for a few minutes each night, she could be Grace again—at least, until she had to open the bathroom door.

_tbc_


	8. Conversations

**_Eight—Conversations_**

"This is really sweet of you," Madison began, "but honestly, you don't have to.  I don't mind going alone."  _Come on, Burke, give me an afternoon to myself, she silently ordered, even as her innocent smile stayed firmly in place._

"But I want to," Christopher insisted, his hands stuck in his jeans pockets.  "You've had these empty bookshelves—" he gestured to the large oak bookcase in her living room—"since the first night I came over here."

"They're not _that_ empty," she argued.

He gave her a look.  "Are you or are you not going book browsing today, as you put it?"

_The one guy in __L.A.__ who listens when I talk, and he's been spotted with terrorists.  Fabulous.  "I am, but that doesn't mean you have to go with me."  He opened his mouth to disagree, but she interrupted him.  "After all, how late were you at the lab last night?"_

Christopher groaned at the memory.  "I think I left around two-thirty," he admitted.

"See?  You should go home and rest."

"I'd rather be with you.  Besides," he grinned, "who kept me occupied for a good three hours last night when I was _supposed to be working?"_

Madison blushed.  Her plan to visit him the night before hadn't included . . . well, she knew her handler didn't expect her to stay there three hours.  Then again, wasn't it all part of the master plan to gain intel from this man?  _"By whatever means necessary" they had told her when the op was in its planning stages.  __"By whatever means necessary" her handler had reminded her the morning before in their quick meeting._

The means certainly were getting interesting, she had to admit.

"Earth to Bookworm.  Hello, earth to Bookworm."  Christopher waved a hand in front of her face.

Madison jumped.  "What did you say?" she asked, trying not to panic.

"Just trying to get your attention, Bookworm."

_Oh God._  "Bookworm?" she repeated weakly.

"Yeah.  You know, people who like books are called bookworms sometimes?"  He looked at her worriedly.  "Are you okay?  Maybe you need to sit down."  He led her over to the couch, and she gratefully collapsed onto it, hugging a throw pillow to her chest.

"I—I just felt dizzy for a minute, that's all," she said slowly.  At least she was telling the truth for once; hearing her code name coming from Burke's lips was enough to make her dizzy with fear.

Christopher sat down on the couch beside her and placed his arm around her shoulders.  "Are you feeling any better now?" he asked a few minutes later.

She sighed as she leaned her head against him.  "Much.  In fact, I'd better get going before the shops close.  It's already after two."  She carefully disengaged herself and stood up.

He shook his head at her.  "You really think I'm going to let you drive after _that?"  He grabbed the car keys out of her hand.  "Not a chance.  If you want to go out today, I'm driving."  She opened her mouth to protest but stopped at the look on his face.  "No arguments."_

"Fine," she muttered.  She grabbed her purse, and the pair walked out the door and down the stairs.

_By whatever means necessary.  Hmph._

*********

"Where to next?" Christopher asked her as they got back into the car an hour later.

Wordlessly Madison handed him the list of stores she had written down.

He looked at the sheet of paper and whistled.  "You know, I've lived here most of my life, and I've never even heard of these places.  How do you do it?"

"Ever heard of the Internet?" she said in a short voice, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Maybe a time or two," he teased.  His smile turned into a frown.  "Come on, sweetie, you're not going to stay mad at me all day, are you?"

She gave him a withering look.  "Perhaps."

He leaned his head on the steering wheel for a moment.  "I try to look out for you, and you hate me?"

_Great listener _and_ overprotective.  Wonderful.  "I'm not a child, Chris.  It was a random thing, I promise.  Can we move past this already?"_

Christopher sighed and put the key in the ignition.

Madison continued to fume as they drove down the street and turned onto the highway.  _This was supposed to be an easy _op.  Three, four months at most, then back to Bogotá.  When did this get so damn complicated?__

She stared out the window as a little voice taunted her.  _It got complicated when you stopped thinking with your head and started thinking with your hear—_

"Here we are," Christopher said in a cheerful voice.

Madison jerked out of her reverie.  "What?"

He pointed at the sign.  "This is where you wanted to go next, right?"

She gave it a cursory glance.  "Yeah.  Right.  This is fine."

He hesitated.  "Are you sure you're okay?  You just don't seem like yourself today."

_Like you would know the real me_, she tried not to retort.  Instead, she said sharply, "I'm _fine_, okay?  Come on.  You wanted to go book browsing, so let's go book browsing."  She quickly stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

Christopher silently followed her into the used bookstore and touched her arm.  "I'm going to be over there," he pointed to the biography section.  "Just let me know when you're done, okay?"

She nodded reluctantly and walked away.

The children's books were, as always, in the back corner of the store, as far away from the cash register as possible.  Madison waited until she was out of sight before leaning against a shelf and closing her eyes.  She was surprised to find herself near tears.  Assuming a new identity was beginning to take its toll on her.  At first it had been easy, or so she had thought.  But now, as the days quickly passed by, more and more of her hours were spent with Burke.  The line separating Grace from Madison was becoming so fine it was practically nonexistent.  And after yesterday . . . she sighed at the memory.

_"You have to get into that lab," she had been told that morning at their meet.  "Devlin's getting impatient."_

_"I know," she had replied, chewing her lip.  "But he didn't even mention Kelley Laboratories until a few days ago.  I couldn't show up there until he told me where he worked," she pointed out._

_"Well, now that he's told you, we need you to use this."  He handed her a small camera.  "Take as many pictures as you can.  We'll dead drop it tomorrow before six."  He quickly outlined where she needed to go.  "Your waiter will be one of our newer agents.  This is his first brush pass, and it should go off without a hitch."  He gave her a meaningful glance.  "Just make sure you have something to hand off to him."_

_Madison__ nodded and placed the camera in her purse._

_"Good luck."_

_It wasn't until later that night, as she approached Burke's office laden with takeout, that she realized her handler never called her by name.  Before it was always, "Hello, Agent Thompson" or "Good luck, Thompson" or occasionally "Goodbye, Grace."_

_She pushed open Burke's door promptly at seven o'clock as she continued to mull this over.  Out of all the people involved in this op, the only one who still called her by name was Derevko.  Interesting._

"Can I help you, ma'am?"  Madison opened her eyes and turned to face an employee.

"No, just browsing," she said and hurriedly walked away.  _Great, just great.  What else can go wrong?_

She began looking through the stacks in earnest, pulling out several books that she knew by sight.  Books that Grace already owned, which were currently stored in her childhood home thousands of miles away.  She sighed.  "So close and yet so far," she muttered to herself as she added two more books to her growing pile.

As the minutes passed, she felt herself calm down.  Surrounded by her favorites, both new and old, she temporarily forgot about Burke and Pyper-Ferguson and Madison Greene.  By the time she finally made her way to the cash register, her arms were overflowing with books.  She gladly set them down, relieved to give her arms a break.

"I take it you found a few books you liked?" Christopher teased.

She turned around and smiled sheepishly.  "Just a few," she teased back as the cashier opened up a second large bag to fill with her purchases.

His eyes widened when they heard the total.  "You bought that many books and only spent _that_?"  He squeezed her hand.  "I'm impressed."

She giggled.  "You should be."

Their good moods continued as Christopher carried the bags out to the car.  "You know, there's an ice cream parlor down the road.  Why don't we check it out?"

She glanced at the time shown at the bank across the street.  If they left now, they could make it to the restaurant by five . . .  She shook her head.  "Nah, I want more than ice cream.  I've got a better idea.  I know this great restaurant that's about ten minutes from here.  We should go there instead."

He looked at her sharply.  "Have you been holding out on me, Greene?"  He winked at her.  "Sure, that sounds fine to me."  He gallantly opened her door for her, then walked around to the driver's side of the car.

Madison took the brief moment of silence to whisper, "If you only knew, Chris.  If you only knew."

*********

"Here's your beer, sir, and your Cherry Coke, ma'am."  The waiter carefully placed his mug and her glass on the table.  "Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu?"

Madison glanced at her glass, counting the cherries floating on top.  _One, two, three . . . good.  It's him._  She nodded imperceptibly at the blonde haired waiter.  "I think we need a few more minutes," she said smoothly.

He nodded and quickly walked away.  "There are so many choices on this menu; I don't know how I'll pick," Christopher commented.

"And they're all great.  Every time I'm here, I try a new dish, and it's always delicious," Madison enthused.  "Plus, the owner is wonderful.  She'll probably be around later to see how our meal was."

Christopher shook his head.  "I don't understand how you find all the good places in Los Angeles, when you've only been here . . . how long?  Three months?"

"Something like that," she agreed quickly, then took a sip of her drink.  "I saw the 'Grand Opening' sign one day when I was driving past here, so I decided to check it out.  And I just keep coming back," she grinned.

"Hmmm," he muttered, focusing once again on the menu.

Madison sat primly on her side of the booth, her hands clasped in her lap, as she studied him.  She had never planned on making the pass with him present, but it seemed that that was the hand she had been dealt.  She shifted in her seat and slowly reached inside her purse for the film.  As her eyes scanned the menu, she quickly deposited the film into her lap.  _So far, so good . . ._

"Are you ready to order?"  Their waiter looked down at them expectantly.  Madison looked at Christopher and nodded at the question in his eyes.

She quickly ordered, noticing how his eyes never left her face.  She could feel her face growing hot under the scrutiny.  She knew for the sake of the op this was a good thing, but on the other hand . . . this could be bad.  Very, very bad.

Besides, she was still mad at him, she reminded herself.  Although how sad was it that she had to be _reminded_?  Mentally shrugging, she turned her attention to the man seated across from her.  While he ordered, she nonchalantly opened her napkin, placing it on her lap.

"All right, I'll have that out to you in a little bit."  Their waiter fumbled with his pen.

"Thank you," Madison said sweetly, hitting her hand against the table.  The silverware she had just placed there slid off the table and landed on the floor.  "Oh no!" she exclaimed.

"I've got it," Christopher volunteered, crouching down to pick up a fork.

"I guess I'll need a new set of silverware.  I'm so sorry about this," she apologized to the waiter.  "Here.  You may as well take my napkin too."  Madison handed him the dirty silverware and a bunched up napkin.  His blue eyes flickered with recognition as he accepted the cloth napkin.

"Not a problem," he said and left them alone.

Christopher leaned across the table and grabbed her left hand.  "Well, it's a good thing your parents didn't name you Grace," he said seriously.

_The _hell_???  She blinked and stared at him.  "Huh?" she finally blurted out._

He smirked at her.  _No, no, no, this isn't happening . . .  "Well, you've proved tonight you're not very _grace_ful."  He laughed at his own joke._

Madison choked.  "That's not very funny," she finally sputtered.  She gave him what she hoped was a wounded look.  "I'm normally pretty coordinated, you know."  She shrugged.  "Accidents happen."

"Sure," he nodded, unconvinced.  "If you say so."  He watched her as she took several sips of her drink.  "I know you're going to be mad at me, but are you _positive_ you're okay?  Something doesn't seem right."

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically.  "You know, if you're going to be on my case the rest of the night, maybe we should just leave now."

Christopher looked at her, shocked.  "I'm not on your case.  I'm just concerned.  What is wrong with that?"

She took a deep breath, trying her best to count to ten.  She made it to four.  "Look, Chris, I've been on my own for a long time now, and I don't need someone looking over my shoulder and overreacting every time I blink."

He shifted his head and gazed at a painting hanging behind her on the bright red wall.  He loosened his grip on her hand, although he didn't let go.  Finally, he began to speak softly.

"I know you don't need anyone looking over your shoulder," he said.  "It's just that . . ."

"Just that what?" Madison interrupted hotly.

He slowly stared into her eyes.  "The dizziness, the way you've acted disoriented a few times today, how you leaned up against the bookcase in that last shop for so long—"

"You followed me?"

"I could see you from the chair I was sitting in," he corrected, overlooking her interruption.  "Anyway, the way you've been acting today—it worried me.  It still worries me."  Christopher swallowed, and Madison could see his eyes begin to glisten.

"When I was fifteen, my mom started having these dizzy spells.  Not very often at first, but they kept coming back.  Sometimes I would be talking to her and she would just stare off into space, not even realizing I was answering her question."  He stared squarely into her eyes.  "By the time Mom was worried enough to go to the doctor, it was too late."

"Too late?" she echoed, frantically reviewing Burke's file in her mind.  Sonya Burke, Sonya Burke.  All she could remember was that—

"She died six months later.  Brain tumor," he said quietly.

"Oh."  She felt so inadequate, placing her right hand on top of his, trying to will her strength to him.  "I—I didn't know," she said honestly.

"I didn't expect you to," he pointed out.  "We've only known each other for three weeks."  He gave her a half smile and she nodded encouragingly.  "And I know I'm overreacting, but seeing you today . . ." he trailed off.  "I just don't want anything to happen to you," he finally whispered.  "The more I'm with you, the more I want to be with you, and I don't want that ripped away from me," he confessed.  "So if I worry and ask you a million times if you're okay, it's because I care."

She swallowed hard and realized her eyes were misting.  "Hey, I'm not going anywhere," she said softly, inwardly wincing at her lie.  "I love it that you care, honest.  I just sometimes . . . lose my temper, I suppose."  She smiled hesitantly.  "Forgive me?"

He nodded and breathed a sigh of relief.  "Only if you forgive me."

"Deal."

He clasped both of her hands with his own.  "I do believe, Ms. Greene, that we just survived our first fight."

"We did, didn't we?" she grinned.  "Good for us."

And for a moment, she truly meant it.

*********

The couple ate their meals quietly, only looking up occasionally to glance at the other.  As they finished, their eyes met.  Christopher laughed awkwardly.  "You know, I just realized something."

"What's that?" Madison asked in a neutral voice.

"You've seen where I work, and you've even been inside the lab, which isn't exactly sanctioned—"

"I thought you were the boss.  And if the boss wants me in the lab . . ."

Christopher brought his napkin up to his mouth and coughed.

Madison leaned over anxiously.  "Are you okay?"

He waved her hand away.  "I'm fine," he finally said.  "It's just what you said."  He snickered.  "About wanting you in the lab?"

She blushed furiously and looked away.  "I didn't mean _that," she whispered.  She finally turned back around when his laughter grew louder.  "Be quiet—people are watching!"_

His laughter slowly died down, and her color returned to normal.  "Anyway, as I was saying before—you've been to my lab, but you won't even give me your direct line at work?  Come on, oh graceful one, certainly it wouldn't hurt to give me your number."

Impulsively, she stuck her tongue out at him.  "It's just that the bosses don't like us to make personal calls at the office," she explained.

He made a buzzer noise.  "Wrong answer, dear.  If that was the case we wouldn't have talked on the phone for thirty minutes Thursday."

She sighed, unable to think of a comeback.  In fact, her head was starting to hurt—not that she planned on telling him that.

Christopher leaned back in the booth and smiled.  "Don't worry.  I'll be sure to ask Fiona about the 'no personal calls' policy on Monday."

"What?"  she asked confused.

"Well, since you won't give me your direct number, Fiona and I are becoming great friends," he teased.  "In fact, just the other day she told me that—"

She covered her ears and groaned.  "Whatever it is, I'm sure I don't want to know."

He winked at her.  "No, you don't."

"It's a good thing you were busy in the lab all day yesterday."  Madison tried to change the subject.  "Fiona had the day off."

"Did she call in sick?"

Madison wrinkled her nose.  "No, that was the funny thing.  She just didn't show up.  I called her house around nine-thirty and got the machine.  Then she calls in around three and says that she's had a personal day approved for weeks.  She had me look through her desk, and sure enough, there was a copy of a signed personal leave form."  She absent-mindedly pushed her hair out of her face.  "The weird thing is she didn't even mention it on Thursday.  And no one remembered that she was off, which is really strange."  She shrugged.  "I guess everyone had a massive brain freeze, right?"

"I guess," he said doubtfully.  "It does sound weird though."

Madison looked across the table and realized that she and Burke were thinking the same thing.  Oddly enough, it didn't worry her.  She was too preoccupied with Fiona at the moment to really care.

"She's okay," she said out loud.  "I mean, she just took a day off, left town for a long weekend, right?  No big deal."

"Yeah," he quickly agreed.  "Just a little vacation.  Nothing to worry about."  He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

"And how was everything tonight?"

They both jerked slightly at the interruption, turning to see the owner standing before them.

"Wonderful as always," Madison replied, gripping Christopher's hand.

"We like to hear that," she said woodenly.  "Have a great night."  She journeyed on to the next table, asking the same question.

Madison followed her with her eyes, puzzled.  "That's strange."

"What?"

"She's normally so open and talkative.  Tonight . . . it's like she's a different person or something."  She shrugged.  "Come on, Chris.  We've been sitting too long."

"You know, they might appreciate it if we stayed to pay the bill," he answered in an amused voice.

"Whoops," she grinned sheepishly and relinquished his hand.  "Let's see, you paid at the last restaurant, so it's my turn."  She rummaged through her purse for her wallet.

"But _you_ paid for the takeout last night, so tonight is _my_ treat."

"That was nothing.  That dinner the other night cost a small fortune."

"No, not really.  Give it up, Madison.  I'm buying."

"No, I am."

"Nope."

"Yup."

"Come on . . ."

"Chris, don't make me give you the evil eye . . ."

He laughed and threw his hands up in surrender.  "Okay, okay, okay.  You win.  But only this time," he hastily added.

She beamed at him as she handed the waiter her credit card.  "We'll see about that."

*********

Christopher drummed his fingers on the steering wheel later that night as they meandered through the city.  "At the risk of sounding stupid, can I ask you a question?"

Madison sat up in her seat.  "Sure," she said cautiously.

"Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed being with you today, and even the shopping part wasn't _that_ bad—but if you like kids books so much, why don't you own very many?"

She stared out her window and took a deep breath.  It wasn't a stupid question; in fact, it was a rather intelligent question, the kind a smart man would be expected to ask eventually.  But why did it have to be tonight?

"I used to have a huge collection," she admitted.  "Both of my parents loved to read, and I had so many books at one point that I probably rivaled the library."  She smiled at the memory.  "But I don't have them anymore."

"Why not?" he interrupted.  "I'm sorry," he hastily said.  "I'm not trying to be nosy, honest."

"It's okay," she assured him.  She quietly watched the city pass her by for a few minutes before continuing.  "Three years ago I decided to join the Peace Corps," she lied.  "After my training, I was sent to Paraguay to work for two years.  Since I was out in the middle of nowhere, communication with the outside world was spotty at best.  I could go weeks, months even, without receiving any mail.  In fact, the last letter I got from my dad was two months before I left.  That didn't worry me, though; I just assumed there were more letters stuck somewhere between Maryland and Paraguay.  So at the end of my two years, I flew back home . . . and my aunt met me at the gate."  She swallowed.  "She told me . . . my dad . . ."

He leaned over and patted her leg.  She quickly placed her hand on top of his.  "My mom had died years earlier in a car accident, a drunk driver.  After that, it was just me and my dad.  You know, for years I had been trying to get him to quit smoking," she recalled.  "I kept telling him it would kill him someday."  She laughed humorlessly.  "I just didn't realize he'd take the whole house with him."

Understanding was swift.  "He set the house on fire," he realized.

Madison nodded in the darkness, impressed with her ability to improvise.  "The investigators decided he fell asleep before a cigarette was extinguished properly.  He died from smoke inhalation.  The house burned to the ground."

"And because you were out of the country . . ."

"I was storing all of my stuff at the house," she finished.

"Oh, Madison."  He removed his hand from her knee and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.  "How awful for you."

She nodded.  "I lost everything and everyone I had left.  After that, I stayed with my aunt for a few weeks, then I came to California to visit a friend.  Eventually I wound up here."  She wrapped her arms around herself and crossed her fingers so he couldn't see.  "I just couldn't bear to rebuild my collection until now.  So many of these books my dad bought for me . . . and it just makes me miss him even more.  I still can't believe he's gone."  _Probably because he's not,_ she added silently to herself.

He pulled into her apartment complex and put the car in park.  "I'm so sorry," he said sympathetically.  "I shouldn't have said anything."

"You're fine," she said.  "There's no way you could have known."  _Especially since I just made most of that up.  She opened her car door and stepped out into the cool night.  "Come on.  We've got lots of books to carry in."_

He groaned and pushed the lever to release the trunk.  "You know, I had almost forgotten about them," he muttered as she giggled.

To be honest, so had she.

*********

Madison sat down on her couch the next afternoon and sighed with satisfaction.  After three hours, she was finally done sorting the books she had purchased over the course of the last week.

One shelf had quickly filled, then two.  The shelves were beginning to overflow with picture books, chapter books, Dr. Seuss and Little House on the Prarie, Baby-Sitters Club and Harry Potter.  As she sorted through the books, she wrote her initials in the inside cover of each book, making sure the G was the second letter she wrote, not the first.

She pulled a book off the shelf and double-checked, making sure she had not slipped.  Saw the "MG" staring at her in black ink, sighed, and wedged it once more between two classics in hardcover.  She grabbed another book, one that was published in the last year.  One quick glance and she almost slammed the book closed—until she noticed the smudge.  Staring closely at her initials, she remembered this one from earlier.  Once again the telltale blush appeared on her cheeks, and she was glad no one was watching.

If you could somehow erase the "MG" that had been written and gone over and over and _over _again in a black felt tip marker, you would see another set of initials, a set that she still denied writing, still refused to think about, still refused to acknowledge what they could mean.

"MB."

_tbc_


	9. Street Corner

**A/N:  **When I started this story, I said that it was post-Phase One and pre-A Dark Turn, and it would be AU after that.  Well . . . I changed my mind.  Basically, certain events in ADT will be incorporated in this, starting with this chapter.  This story is not going to have lots of details of the later episodes of Season 2, but I will warn you now that the infamous last two minutes will be referenced in future chapters.  So, if you somehow don't know what I'm talking about and are spoiler free, consider yourself warned.

****

****

**_Nine—Street Corner_**

Madison blearily hit the snooze button Monday morning.  "Shut up," she moaned.  She burrowed back under the covers and drifted back to sleep.

Nine minutes later the alarm clock blared again.  Her right arm flailed as it tried to connect with the snooze button.  Instead the clock fell off the night table and into the trash can.

"You evil thing," she muttered as she reluctantly sat up and retrieved the clock.  She glared at the time.  "Why on earth did I set this so early?" she asked herself as she stumbled into the bathroom.  She winced as she turned the light on and snatched a purple post-it note that was stuck to the mirror.  _Breakfast with Burke, 7 a.m.  "Oh yeah," she remembered aloud and ripped the post-it into shreds._

She splashed cold water on her face, trying to wake up.  "You are meeting with Burke because you need to plant bugs.  You are meeting with Burke, who has been _seen with terrorists_, because it will help you and your job.  You are meeting with Mr. Terrorist because your country needs the intel," she muttered to herself.  She ran her toothbrush under the water and grabbed the toothpaste.  "You are _not_ meeting with Mr. Terrorist because you want to see him before he leaves for five days on his trip.  You are meeting with Mr. Terrorist to help you in your search for biological weapons.  This is not a social visit.  It's not.  Not really."  She began brushing her teeth in earnest, still talking through the foam.  "You do not like Burke.  Burke is a bad man.  A bad, bad man."

She spit the toothpaste out and pulled out her makeup bag.  "Burke is the enemy.  He is an enemy of the United States of America."  She opened her foundation.  "Burke is using his scientific background to harm people."  She dotted her face with the makeup and began smoothing it into her pale skin.  "The fact that he has dark hair and blue eyes, which you love, is totally irrelevant.  He is a bad, bad man," she repeated as she began applying powder and blush.

She sighed and grew quiet as she finished putting on her makeup.  When she was done, she picked up a handheld mirror and stared at the reflection.  If she looked—really, truly _stared_—she could still see hints of Grace.  Her flashing blue eyes were the same.  Her nose was still crooked from the time she broke it in high school.  Her face was still heart-shaped.

But more and more she was seeing Madison, not Grace.  The straight, dark, _short hair.  The pierced ears.  The makeup that she now wore.  Even her walk and the way she spoke was slightly different.  And all of this was only after four months.  What would she be like in six months, a year?  She had the sneaking suspicion that this op was not going to be as short-term as she had hoped.  Maybe that was something she could ask Irina . . ._

Sighing, she walked back into the bedroom and opened the closet door.  This was another part of the job she hated—actually having to contemplate what to wear.  Having to dress up all the time, all in the name of impressing a guy, was such a waste of time, in her opinion.

With any luck, the bugs would be a success.  They, coupled with her photos from the previous week, would give them enough intel to raid the lab immediately.  Then she could leave Los Angeles and get back to her own life.

She had the sinking suspicion though that that was not going to happen anytime soon.

*********

"She just quit."  Christopher looked at her skeptically.

Madison swallowed her bite of pancakes.  "I know.  I got in yesterday morning, and she had left her letter of resignation on the boss's desk.  There was a card in my desk drawer where I keep my pens and stuff saying that she had this great opportunity somewhere else and that she would call me in a few weeks."  She took a sip of her orange juice.  "I don't get it.  I mean, I know Fiona's flighty, but . . ."

"It's still not like her," he finished.

"Yeah."  She glanced at her watch.  "We need to get going."

He cursed under his breath.  "Yeah, we do."  He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.  "Don't even try to argue with me," he warned.

She grinned.  "After making me get up so early, believe me.  This one is all you."

Christopher chuckled and stood up.

"Here, I can hang onto that for you," she said, grabbing his briefcase for him.

He raised an eyebrow.  "Are you sure?"

"Not a problem.  You go pay, and I'll finish these last few bites."  She waved him away.

"Okay," he agreed and walked to the cash register.

_That was almost too easy._  She stuffed a forkful of pancakes in her mouth, then immediately reached inside her purse.  She quickly placed two bugs on his briefcase and stood to join him.

Moments later he turned to face her.  "Ready?"

Madison nodded and handed him the briefcase, then walked out of the restaurant.  He removed his hand from the small of her back as she leaned against his car in the parking lot.  "What?" he asked, noticing the look on her face.

She moved closer to him.  "Your tie is crooked," she said as she reached up to adjust it.  "Not quite . . . just about . . . there," she murmured with satisfaction.  She looked up into his eyes.  "Now you're ready for your meeting."

Christopher leaned down and kissed her.  "Thanks, sweetie."  She smiled up at him in return.  "I'll call you tonight, okay?"

"Okay.  Good luck with your presentation.  Let me know how it goes."

"Will do."  He unlocked his door and placed the briefcase inside.  "I'll see you Friday night."  He climbed into the car and closed the door behind him.

"'Bye," she waved as he pulled out of the parking lot.  She waited until he had disappeared from sight before getting into her own car.  After putting the key in the ignition, she pulled a paper bag out of her glove compartment and began to write.

_Burke has three bugs on his person and two on his briefcase.  Will update status of mission later today.  Have photos and any analysis already completed ready for review._

_—Bookworm_

Madison crumpled the bag into a wad and tossed it into a nearby trash can as she pulled out of the parking lot.  Then she dialed a familiar number on her cell phone and punched in the specific code.

She smiled.  The information would be in Devlin's hands in less than an hour.

*********

Four hours later Madison shut down her computer and picked up her purse.  "I'm going now," she called out to anyone who was listening.  "Wish me luck at my checkup!"

She noticed a few of her colleagues nodding and half-listening to her as she walked through the reception area and out the door.  She shrugged into her coat as she walked to the parking garage, deep in thought.  She certainly didn't expect to become lifelong friends with her colleagues, but most of the time she could barely get a greeting out of them.  _Well, except for Fiona, she corrected herself.  _But she's gone now.__

She maneuvered through the busy streets and grabbed lunch from the nearest drive through.  As she waited in line, she dialed a familiar number and waited.  "Hi, I was calling to see if you had a horror novel in stock . . . yes, twenty minutes would be fine.  Thank you!"  She clicked the "off" button and resumed her journey, finally stopping in the parking lot of a medical facility.  She laughed and shook her head.  _A mystery novel will get me pulled from the mall, and a horror novel gets me out of a medical center.  Go figure._

She waited until a mother with an infant had strapped her child into a car seat and pulled away before getting out of the car and approaching a dark sedan that was nearby.  She recognized the driver from an earlier meeting and quickly climbed into the back seat, crouching down in the floor board.

"Thanks for picking me up," she called out as the car sped down the freeway.

"Not a problem, Agent Thompson," the driver replied.  "Let's just hope that you can get more accomplished today than the others assigned to this case."

Madison sighed.  "Let me guess—nothing so far?"

"Not a thing.  The film's been developed—you got some good shots.  But they haven't been able to determine anything."

The two remained silent for several minutes as they entered the underground parking garage.  Madison gratefully sat up and stretched, then exited the car.

"Oh, there is one more thing," the driver remembered as she waved her badge to the security guards and opened the door.  "Mr. Devlin is here this afternoon and wishes to see you."

"_Great_," Madison mumbled to herself as she stepped inside.  "Guess I'll talk to him first then.  Thanks for the ride."

The agent nodded and quickly disappeared in the crowd of agents swarming the building.

Madison quickly walked through the maze of desks to a long hallway at the opposite end.  "Agent Thompson!"

She spun around to see Devlin approaching her.  "Mr. Devlin.  I was just looking for you," she told him.

"Good.  Let's talk in here," he gestured to an empty office.  She followed him into the room and sat down in a vacant chair as he closed the door behind him.

"I've been going over your progress," he began.  "It appears that the op is going extremely well.  The brush pass on Saturday reinforced that."

"Thank you," Madison said, trying not to blush.

"I don't want to take up too much of your time today.  I know that you have lots of photographs and other intel to sort through while you're here.  Oh, and we're picking up audio from the bugs you planted this morning."  He nodded approvingly.  "Agent Bentley was right about you.  He said you would be perfect for the job."

"Really," she said conversationally, wracking her brain.  _I'm not even sure who Agent Bentley is._

"That he did.  So, let's take care of two more things very quickly, and then you're on your own."  She nodded and waited for him to continue.  "First of all, I thought you might want a look at this file."  He passed her the indicated folder.

"He's still the same?" she asked as she paged through the documents.

"The nurses say he often calls them Grace," Devlin told her quietly.  "He doesn't really remember who you are though.  And there have been no slip-ups about your job.  Still, it's best to keep him in CIA facilities."

Madison nodded, fighting back tears as she looked at the recent photographs.  "He doesn't even look like Daddy," she murmured to herself, allowing a finger to trace the outline of his face.

Devlin reached over and squeezed her arm.  "My mother-in-law had Alzheimer's," he said sympathetically, "so I do understand what you're going through."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.  "Thank you for the update on his condition," she said formally.  "I know it's not something you have to do, and I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," he nodded.  "Now, item number two."  He looked at her and smiled.  "You told your colleagues at the record label you had to have a checkup, right?"

"Right."

"Well, one of the doctors here thought that a checkup sounded like a great idea, and so—"

"You have got to be kidding me," she interrupted.  "I'm as healthy as a horse!  My last checkup—which was four months ago, I might add—clearly showed that."

He rolled his eyes at her.  "As I was saying, _Grace_.  The Agency's gynecologist will see you in," he looked at his watch, "twenty minutes."  He stood and opened the door for her.

"The—you mean I have to—oh, this is so not fair," she fumed as she walked to the door.

"Fair or not, the appointment—which you managed to avoid four months ago—is in eighteen minutes.  Then you're free to evaluate intel."

Madison reluctantly walked down the hallway.  "I bet this stupid idea was Agent Bentley's too," she grumbled to herself.  "Because only a man would think that going to a gynecologist would be a productive way to spend an afternoon."

*********

The doctor studied the chart as Madison swung her bare legs from the examining table.  "What method of birth control have you been using?" he queried.

"Abstinence," she shot back as she crossed her arms in front of her.  She hoped that she didn't tear the paper gown.

"But you're on a—"

"A swallow mission, yeah, yeah, I know," Madison interrupted.  "But there's no need for birth control."

The nurse, who had quietly observed the conversation so far, stared at her.  "Are you delusional?  You've got to use something—unless you'd rather wind up pregnant," she pointed out.

"You know she's right, Agent Thompson."  He quickly scribbled something on the chart.  "Let's start you on a low-dosage birth control pill.  If you have any problems with the medication, let us know immediately."

Madison rolled her eyes and continued to inwardly grumble as she got dressed again in the empty room.  A few minutes later the nurse returned with the contraceptives.  As she reached to grab the packet from her hand, Madison noticed the bright labeling and snickered.

"Is something wrong?" the nurse asked.

"No, everything's fine," she said calmly as she placed them in her purse and quickly escaped the medical wing.

_Only the CIA would prescribe a birth control manufactured by Pyper-Ferguson._

*********

The guard's ears perked up as he heard a set of footsteps approaching him.  "That's what, the third or fourth visitor she's had today?" he said to himself.  "Weird."  Moments later he realized who was approaching for this visit with Derevko.  "It's about time I saw her again.  She's a lot easier on the eyes than that Bristow guy who keeps showing up."  He stood at attention as the dark-haired woman approached him.

"I'm here to see the prisoner," she said confidently.

He smirked at her.  Not only was she gorgeous, but she wasn't a part of the CIA's most dysfunctional family.  If only she wasn't on that op of hers . . .

"Well?"

He grinned and punched in the familiar code.

"Thanks," she called out as she began the walk to the CIA's most popular cell.

Irina's eyes opened as Madison appeared in front of her.  "Grace," she said.  "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," she echoed faintly.  Would this woman ever stop surprising her?

"How is your op going?" Irina asked curiously.  She rose from the floor and walked towards her.

"Devlin thinks it's going well," she answered.  She leaned her shoulder against the glass.

"And you?"  She gave Madison a pointed look.

Madison flushed under her direct gaze.  "It's . . . well, it's . . . different," she finally said.  "It's unlike any other mission I've ever been a part of."

"That's the way swallow missions are.  And each one is unique."

Madison shuddered.  "I hate that term," she confessed.  "Swallow mission.  It's so—"

"Degrading?" Irina supplied.  She nodded.  "I felt the same way."

"And now?"

"Now?  I despise both the terminology and the op itself.  But then, we've had that conversation already."

Madison nodded.  "You said each op is unique," she began.  "What was yours like?  I mean, we've talked so much about mine and setting mine up that even after all this time, I don't know much about your marriage to Agent Bristow."

Irina blinked.  "Jack was right.  You are smart."

"Thanks, I guess."  She looked at her, puzzled.

"Jack was certain you knew I was sent here to steal secrets from him."  Irina shook her head ruefully.  "It appears he was correct."

"So, you and Agent Bristow . . . how did you two meet?" she asked hesitantly.

"I picked him up on a street corner," Irina replied.

Madison gaped.  "You what???"

Irina shook her head.  "Not like _that," she replied, although a painful look fleetingly crossed her features at the implication.  "I had been trying for a week to arrange a meeting.  I had followed him around, hoping to bump into him.  I had befriended Emily, hoping she would offer to set me up on a date with her new husband's best friend.  Neither had happened._

"So one morning I followed him in my car.  When he went inside a store for a few minutes, I opened the valve on one of his tires.  It went completely flat about thirty minutes later, which is when I 'just happened' to drive by and offer my assistance."  She laughed—an outright laugh—and Madison blinked in surprise.  "Of course, being the gentleman he was, he wouldn't let me do anything but drive him to the nearest pay phone to call for a tow truck."

"Why didn't he just put on the spare?" Madison interrupted.

Irina looked at her.  "Do you think I was foolish enough to leave the spare in the car?"  She shook her head.  "After he called for the tow truck, we went inside a diner across the street and he bought me a cup of coffee."  She smiled at the memory.  "Our second date was the next night."

"You picked him up on a street corner," Madison repeated.

"You act as if it is absurd," Irina scolded.

"Well . . ." she trailed off, her eyebrows raised.

"No matter."  Irina paused.  "It was always an amusing story to tell at parties," she finally admitted.

Madison opened her mouth to ask another question when she heard the gates clanging once more.  "Someone else is coming," she said unnecessarily.

"Jack," Irina said.  "The plane must be ready."

"Plane?" Madison echoed.

"Part of my agreement with the CIA is that I provide intelligence and assistance when the Agency deems it necessary.  Jack is escorting me to Bangkok, where one of my sources lives."

"You and Jack are flying to Bangkok," she repeated slowly.  _Thirty years ago they worked on opposite sides, and now they're working together.  I wonder if thirty years from now Burke and I . . . nah.  He'll probably be locked up in some prison somewhere.  Too bad.  I bet he'd make a good partner._

_Of course, Irina's locked up in a prison right now too, and . . . stop thinking that way, __Madison__.  Grace._

Shaking her head, Madison watched as Jack walked through the open gates.  "I guess I'll be going then," she murmured.  "I have lots of intel to look through anyway."

"I'll be back in a few days.  We can talk then if you wish," Irina offered.

She nodded in agreement.  "Good luck in Bangkok, I guess."  She passed Jack and slowly walked through the Joint Task Center.  _Irina__ and Jack.__  On a mission.  To _Bangkok__, of all places._  She mentally calculated.  _A flight to __Bangkok___ is . . . eighteen, nineteen hours.  And they're going to be on a plane, probably just the two of them . . ._

Madison suddenly felt compelled to pray for Jack.  And Irina.

And most important of all, their poor pilot.

_tbc_


	10. Research

**_Ten—Research_**

"Agent Thompson?"

"Yes?" Madison turned around to see a dark-haired man standing in front of her.

"Um, hi.  Yeah.  Mr. Devlin—pretty scary guy, don't you think?—told me that you needed a place to work and go over some intel."

"Right.  I was about to send out a search party for my things," she answered with a grin.

"Search party?  That reminds me of this documentary I saw one time on the rescue efforts for a missing—sorry, you probably don't care about that."  He took a deep breath.  "If you'll come with me, I can show you the conference room where everything is set up."

"Okay," she giggled as she followed him through the building.

"So how long have you worked for the Agency?  I've been here for—well, no, that's not right.  See, I thought I was working for the CIA for all these years and then it turns out that—anyway, I don't want to bore you.  Long story, involving me, a lot of other people who are apparently easily duped, and one really big raid a few months ago.  Oh, and this evil, diabolical guy named Sloane.  Ever heard of him?"

She shook her head, her eyes growing wider as he spoke.  "So, is this where I'll be working?"  She gestured to the conference room where two other agents sat, poring through documents.

"Yes, Miss Thompson.  Is it all right if I call you Miss Thompson?  Agent sounds so formal, you know—"

"You can call me Mad—Grace if you'd prefer," Madison interrupted.  _What the hell did I almost call myself?_

"That's alright, Miss Thompson.  Well, here we are.  I'll let you get to work.  'Bye!"

"'Bye," she waved, shaking her head.  She turned and entered the conference room.  "Thompson," she introduced herself, waving her badge at them.

"Glad to see you made it," a red-headed agent in his forties replied.  He gestured at the papers and photographs that were strewn everywhere.  "Maybe you'll make more progress than we've made."

"Let's keep our fingers crossed," she said cheerfully as she sat down.  "All right, what have we got?"

"The photos from the lab are over here," the second agent gestured.  "Everything we've got on Pyper-Ferguson is in these three stacks, and the basics of Kelley Laboratories is over here."  She pointed to several boxes on the floor.  "Those hold the more detailed information."

Madison gulped.  "What about the bugs?  Have they given us anything?"

"To be honest, I don't know.  There's a transcript floating around here somewhere," she began.

"I heard part of it," he interrupted.  "Sounded like he was giving a presentation."

"How'd it go?" Madison asked without thinking.  "I know he was really nervous about—never mind."

The agents looked at her strangely.  "So, do we know what kind of weapons we're looking for yet?" Madison asked, hoping to change the subject.

"We're still not sure.  It could be something like anthrax or smallpox, but so far we haven't located a place where they could be storing it in house."

"But that doesn't really seem like their style anyway," he interjected.  "We're thinking it's something less obvious but just as potent.  As for what it is—it could be anything."

"Good to know we've got that narrowed down," Madison said under her breath.

The two agents glared at her.  "Well, let's see what you can come up with," he shot back as he handed her a stack of photographs.  "Maybe you can put that biochem degree to use."

Madison accepted the photographs and sat down in an empty chair, rolling her eyes.  It was going to be a very long afternoon.

*********

Sark walked down the narrow hallway and opened a creaky door.  "I wish to speak with the prisoner," he said in a clipped tone.  The guard quickly ushered him in, closing the door behind him.

"Well, well, well.  What do we have here?" he smirked at the prisoner.  He noticed how she fought the cuffs that had her securely attached to the chair as she tried to say something.  "You know, I really can't understand what you're trying to say when you have that hideous kerchief in your mouth."  He slowly leaned over and removed it.

"Bloody bastard," she lashed out at him.  "What the hell were you thinking, pulling me like that?"

"You knew the plan," he argued.  "You had only one job, a relatively simple job.  It was one of the easiest reconnaissance missions I've ever planned."  He smirked.  "And yet you, a ranking agent, failed.  One of our new trainees had to deliver the intel to me."

"I was waiting until I had more to tell you," she insisted, her voice never wavering.  "I was planning on dead dropping the intel within the next three days."

"I don't believe you."  Sark stared at her meaningfully.  "We already knew the CIA would be planting an agent there.  All you had to find out was who she was."

"I did," she protested.

"And then you conveniently forgot to tell anyone."  He removed his gun out of his holster.  "It seems that you are having a memory problem.  And in this business, there's only one way to take care of those agents."  Sark pulled the trigger and fired three shots.

"It's too bad.  You always were one of our more free-spirited agents," he said as he ambled out of the holding room.

*********

_They're somewhere over the ocean,_ Madison mused to herself a few hours later.  _I wish I had been able to use one of those bugs on Irina.  There's no telling what I would hear—gunshots, maybe?  I wonder if they've killed each other yet.  Or they might . . . don't go there, Grace.  Bad idea._

She stood and stretched, looking around the vacant room.  The other agents had left her on her own an hour earlier.  Unfortunately, they were no closer to solving the puzzle.

A young man knocked on the door.  "Here's the latest audio from the bugs," he said, handing her a cassette.  "The transcript should be ready in a little while."

She nodded.  "Thanks," she said as she stuffed it into the tape player and hit 'play.'

Madison listened to the tape for a few minutes, occasionally hearing muffled noises that she tried to identify.  "A door closing?" she muttered to herself.  "Maybe."  She heard rustling noises, then finally heard an indistinct voice.  "Okay, Burke, start speaking into the mikes.  Make my job a little easier, 'kay?"  She leaned back and rested her legs in the chair next to her.

She reached forward and hit the 'rewind' button, going back a few seconds.  "A radio?" she murmured, listening once more.  The music stopped and was followed by a voice.  _"What are you doing calling me?" she faintly heard._

"Cell phone," she said gleefully.  "Bingo."  She turned up the volume.  "Come on, speak louder, Burke."

After another minute of garbled talking, the recording improved considerably.  "He must've stopped playing with his tie," she said to herself.  "He needs to break that habit anyway."

_"I told you a few days ago, remember?  I'm not in __Los Angeles__.  I'm on a business trip . . . yes, I know I'm gone a lot.  But I promise, I'll make it up to you."_

Her eyes narrowed.  "Why, that two-timing little . . ."

_"Maybe we can go to the zoo in a few weeks when it gets a little warmer outside."_

"The zoo," she murmured to herself.  "What kind of date takes a woman to the zoo?"

_"I know, but I've been busy, Lea."_

"Ohhhhhh," she realized.  _You were jealous of an eight-year-old?  Brilliant, Grace.  Wait a sec—not jealous.  No, a better word would be . . . would be . . . worried about, she concluded triumphantly._

_Um, Grace?  That was two words._  She sighed.  Why could she never win an argument against herself?

Shaking her head, she once more listened to the cassette as it played.  _"What do you mean, do I have a girlfriend?"_

Madison perked up.  Oh, _this was going to be interesting._

_"Don't believe everything your mom says.  Trust me.  I grew up with her."_

Madison rolled her eyes.  "Nice diversion," she said sarcastically.

_"Of course I want you to meet her.  Her name?  __Madison__.  Yeah, it is a cool name.  And she's . . . she's . . ."  He paused, and Madison held her breath.  __"You'll love her," he finally said._

"Whew," she breathed a sigh of relief.  She quickly hit the 'stop' button and sat back, closing her eyes.  _This will be over soon, she told herself.  She allowed her mind to wander, thinking over the events of the last few months, the people she had met, focusing on one person in particular.  _Stop worrying, Grace.___  She's fine.  She absent-mindedly tapped her fingers on the table.  _Then why do I keep thinking that something's wrong?__

She resolutely stood up, pushing both chairs away, and exited the room.  She marched through the Ops Center until she found the agent she was looking for.

"Grace!" the surprised agent exclaimed as she looked up from her computer screen.

"Hey, Ashley," she replied, reaching down to give her a hug.  "I didn't know you had been transferred here until last week."

"I've only been here about a month.  I hear _you've_ been busy," Ashley said meaningfully.

Madison rolled her eyes.  "Yeah, yeah, yeah."  She held up her hands in surrender.  "Don't even start with me."

"Oh, but as your former roommate, I have to."  She looked around to make sure no one was watching them and lowered her voice.  "What the hell are you doing on this op?  That was the one kind of job back at the Farm we swore we'd never take part in."

"I know," Madison answered, biting her lip.  "It's just that they told me it would be a quick mission and I wouldn't have to actually sleep with him or anything and—"

"And you bought that?"  Ashley looked at her skeptically.  "Come on, Gracie.  We've been in this business too long for you to actually believe the company line."  Her eyes narrowed.  "Well, have you?"

"Have I what?"  She leaned on the corner of Ashley's desk.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?  Have you and this cretin—"

"He's not a cretin, Ash, and no, nothing's happened.  Honest," she said, holding a hand up as if swearing an oath.

"Right," Ashley muttered.

"I swear, Chris and I—"

"Chris?  _Chris???" she practically shrieked._

"Lower your voice, Ash.  People are starting to look at us," Madison whispered urgently.

"You called him Chris.  Not even Christopher, but Chris."  Ashley grabbed her monitor with both hands and prepared to bang her head against it.  "No, no, no, no, NO, Grace!  I _knew this was going to happen.  If I had gotten here sooner, I would have stopped it, but no, the higher ups had already thrown you to the wolves," she fumed._

Madison stood up and removed her friend's hands from the computer.  "I'm a big girl.  I can take care of myself."

"Can you?" she challenged.

Madison sighed.  "Look, I don't think either one of us needs to say anything we're going to regret.  I should be back here tomorrow or the next day.  Why don't we talk then?"

"Fine.  Maybe Izzy can join in the fun."

"She's out here too?"  Madison squealed.

"Yeah.  We were both in the briefing on Pyper-Ferguson and your mission a few weeks ago, so we don't have to keep anything from her."

"I can't believe she still lets you call her Izzy," Madison commented.

Ashley grinned.  "She doesn't."

Madison laughed.  "Okay, well, I've got to run.  Oh, wait!  I almost forgot."  She leaned down and scribbled on a piece of paper.  "Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure, I'll shoot the cretin for you," Ashley said enthusiastically.

"That's not the favor."  Madison rolled her eyes.  "You really hate him, don't you."

"I typically don't get chummy with terrorists.  Just their phony girlfriends," she retorted.

"Gee, how nice of you."  She handed her the piece of paper.  "This woman, Fiona.  She worked at the record label with me, and she's allegedly left town."

Ashley's eyes lit up.  "Allegedly?"

"Can you run a search for me?  I wrote down her name and address.  She probably just moved to a new city and started over, but . . . I've got a bad feeling about it."

"I'll see what I can find," Ashley promised.

"Thanks."  She glanced at her watch.  "Running late as always," she muttered.  She looked up apologetically.

"Good to know some things don't change."  Ashley smiled sweetly.

"You are _so_ going to pay for that remark—next time," Madison vowed.  She quickly hugged her.  "I'll see you later."

"Be careful!" Ashley called out as Madison walked away.

*********

Thirty minutes later Madison was back in her own car, still parked at the medical facility.  She sped through the streets, constantly checking for tails as she neared her destination.

At last she pulled into a parking lot.  After getting out and locking the doors, she pushed the strap of her purse back on her shoulder and meandered through the tall buildings.  She had studied a map back at the Ops Center, so it was only a few minutes later when she saw the sign she was looking for.

Looking over her shoulder one more time, Madison confidently walked into the lobby and approached the counter.  "Hi, I was wondering if you could help me with some research," she told the librarian on duty.  "The mother of one of my best friends used to teach here, and I was hoping to help her find out what her mom was like back then.  See, she died when my friend was little, and she doesn't really remember much about her."

"Oh, the poor dear," the librarian said sympathetically.  "Well, let's see what we can dig up.  What was her name?  I might have known her; I've worked here for thirty-five years," she said proudly.

"Maybe you did.  She taught in the English department, but I'm not sure of her specialty."

"The English professors are over here more than the rest of the university faculty, helping the freshman understand the library and all," she laughed.  "What was her name?"

Madison swallowed.  "Laura Bristow."

_tbc_


	11. Doomed

**_Eleven—Doomed_******

_Same song, different verse,_ Madison thought to herself the following Thursday afternoon.  _I spend way too much time in the floorboard of cars these days._

"You okay back there?" the driver called.

"I'm fine," she said cheerfully, masking her impatience.  She needed something to distract her.  She could think about Burke—but really, that was unnecessary.  She wasn't going to see him until the next night, or maybe sometime over the weekend.  And it's not like she _wanted to think about him . . . right?_

_Right,_ she told herself firmly.  _Moving on._  She thought for a moment.  _Maybe it would be best to think about what I'm going to say to Irina._  She clutched the expandable brown envelope, thinking of the many contents it held.  _After all, I have a bone to pick with her . . ._

It had been during one of their first meetings that Irina tried once more to dissuade her.

_"Refuse the mission?  But why?"_

_Irina__ had looked at her, almost as a mother would look at her daughter—something that should have frightened __Madison__, but it didn't._

_"Because once you're in . . . the rest of your life will be altered.  Permanently."_

_"No, it won't," __Madison__ had protested.  "It will be time-consuming and challenging, yes, but only for a short time.  It's not going to affect my life five, ten, fifteen years down the road."_

_"Won't it?"  Irina had placed her hands up on the glass that separated them, leaning her head forward.  "You think that this will be a short op, one that you can escape from in a few months.  It won't be.  It takes time for people to develop the kind of trust in each other that this mission requires.  Time where you will be in the presence of a man you now consider your enemy.  But in a few months, a few years, how will you feel?  Where will your loyalties lie?  With your country . . . or with your heart?"_

"We're here," the driver interrupted her thoughts.

Madison glumly sat up and exited the car, slowly walking towards the guarded door.

_Damn Irina.  Ugh._

She never had liked it when someone else was right.

Madison straightened her back and entered the building, walking with only one destination in mind.

"Hey stranger," a voice from the past said behind her.

Madison whirled around.  "Iz!" she exclaimed.

Isabel groaned.  "You two have _got to stop calling me that."_

"Oh, you love it," Madison said breezily.  "You just can't admit it."

"Well, what should I call you these days, Miss Greene?"

"Ugh."  Madison wrinkled her nose.  "Definitely Grace.  I hate my new last name," she confided.

Isabel laughed as she steered them down a hallway.  "Not one of the CIA's brighter moments.  Every time I read your alias I think you must be related to Rachel from _Friends_."

Madison snickered.  "I'm glad to know I'm not the only one who thinks that."  She stopped and leaned against a wall.  "So Ash told me that the two of you know everything that's going on?"

Isabel nodded seriously.  "We just wish you weren't the agent pulled in.  But I'm sure you already knew that."

"Yeah, I know.  But it could be worse.  This guy could have been some old, creepy, smelly man.  But he's not.  He's okay," she assured her friend.

"You know, I think I wish that he was old, creepy, and smelly.  I'd feel better about this then," she commented.

"Whatever.  So where's Ashley?" she asked, changing the subject.

"She got called out to the East Coast early this morning.  She was on a flight within an hour."  Isabel frowned.  "She didn't look too good when she left here."

"Let me know how she's doing as soon as you hear, okay?  Page me to come back here or pass it on to my handler or something."

"Don't worry, I'll let you know."  Isabel twisted a lock of hair with her fingers.  "Which reminds me—Devlin wanted me to tell you that he needed to meet with you as soon as you got here."

Madison groaned.  "_Again?_  I swear, if he's making me see another doctor, I will kill the man."

Isabel laughed.  "I heard about your adventure the other day.  Hell, all the women here were laughing at your rants.  I'm sorry I missed the live show."

She stuck her tongue out.  "I'll deal with him later.  I need to talk to someone else first."

"Derevko?"

She nodded.

"Did you hear that they're letting her out again?" Isabel said conspiratorially.

"You're kidding."

"Nope.  They just got back sometime late last night or early this morning, and they're leaving again in a few hours."

"I guess the trip to Bangkok was successful then," Madison surmised.

"Bangkok?  I take it you didn't know about Hong Kong then."

"Huh?"

"After Bangkok they rerouted them to Hong Kong for almost a full 24 hours.  Then they flew back here."

Madison's eyes grew wide.  "Oh, _that_ had to be interesting."

"You're telling me.  Although, to be honest, I just kept feeling sorry for . . ."

"The pilot.  I know," she finished.  "Me too."

The two exchanged a look and began laughing.  "Are we ever going to grow up?" Madison giggled.

"I hope not," Isabel sputtered, fanning her face.  The laughter slowly died as they looked away from each other, staring at the blank walls around them.  When they finally felt it was safe, they looked at each other again—and immediately began laughing.

"I am not going to be able to walk into that cell with a straight face," Madison finally said.  "I'm doomed."

Isabel took a deep breath.  "Well, you could always go talk to Devlin first."

"Hell no."  She sighed and glanced at her watch.  "I guess I'd better go before she leaves on another trip.  I'll see you later, Iz."

She rolled her eyes.  "'Bye, Gracie," she replied, then disappeared into an office.

Madison shook her head and looked at the bulging folder she still held.  She sighed.  It was now or never . . .

Several minutes later she was speaking to the same guard who was always there to admit her into Irina's cell.  She quickly walked down the hallway, not even noticing the familiar gates rising and falling around her.

"Welcome back," she said to Irina.

"Thank you," she said softly, not looking up from her desk.  She had a book and a notepad in front of her, scribbling furiously.  She turned a page, read for a moment, then made a notation.  At last she looked up.  "We do not have much time today.  Jack and I are leaving soon . . . and I am expecting another visitor before I go."

"Sydney," Madison realized.

Irina stood up and walked over to the glass.  "What do you know about her?"

She gestured at the expanding envelope.  "Plenty."  At Irina's questioning gaze, she continued.  "I realized something the other day—I know a lot about your life in the last twenty years.  Well, as much as the CIA has discovered, at any rate.  I know about your organization, your contacts, your SOP.  I know lots about Irina Derevko—post-swallow mission.

"But other than your 'how we met' story, I knew nothing about your years as Laura Bristow.  You have spent the last month berating me, calling me Grace so that I will stay focused on my true identity, warning me to back away before it's too late.  So I started to wonder—what was Laura Bristow like?"

Irina stared at her.  "What would you like to know?"

"Would you really answer my questions, even if I asked them?" Madison countered, her voice rising.

"Yes.  But only one."

"One question," Madison repeated skeptically.  "How generous of you."  She unwound the string on the expanding envelope and opened the cover, pulling out stacks of papers and photographs.  "I have spent the last two days studying Laura Bristow—after all, I suppose she should be my true mentor, right?"

Irina tilted her head; no sound escaped her lips.

"It's amazing how much I was able to get my hands on," she continued as if she were speaking aloud to herself.  "I have copies of your engagement announcement and wedding announcement from the newspapers.  And we can't forget Sydney's birth announcement either.  Then, of course, we also have your obituary."  She waved a piece of newsprint in front of the glass.  "Brilliant work of fiction, don't you think?  Or did you ever take the time to read it, seeing as you were on your way back to Russia and all?

"I knew two days ago that you not only married your subject but had a child with him.  I'm not _that_ stupid.  But somehow I never realized exactly what your timeline in America looked like.  I didn't know that you dated Jack for a year before you finally gave in to his proposal, or that you were engaged for eight months—longer than Jack wanted, but he gave in because he loved you so much—so that you could have the perfect dress made for your wedding."

She took a breath.  "And then two years later you got pregnant . . ."  She dug a photograph out and waved it in Irina's face.  "Somehow I never realized that Sydney was six when you left."  She watched as Irina took in the image of a young Jack and Laura, an even younger Sydney.  "You were here for ten years.  _Years._"

"That is correct, Grace," Irina said softly.

"That was not a question!" Madison shot back.  "You spent a decade on your swallow mission.  I was up all of Tuesday night thinking about this—how did you survive that long?  My only conclusion was that you must have been miserable, surrounded by people and an ideology that you loathed.  I envisioned that you were able to fake love and devotion long enough to finally marry Jack, then used a pregnancy to keep him.  Jack Bristow seemed like too honorable of a guy to leave his poor, defenseless, pregnant wife.  I was sure that the two of you were living two separate lives, only merging occasionally when Sydney had a birthday party or dance recital or something.

"Unfortunately, a part of me kept arguing that that was too simple.  That in order for you to stay ten years, in order for the KGB to _not_ extract you, you must have been brilliant at your job.  So maybe you faked happiness occasionally, looked like the perfect wife at any CIA office parties where you hung on Jack's arm adoringly, smiled for the cameras, and then continued to send intel back to Russia."  She gave Irina a pointed look.  "Or maybe you weren't just acting.  Maybe it was something more . . . "

Madison took a deep breath and tried to focus.  Slowly, carefully, she retrieved a piece of paper from the folder.  "The week after your car accident, the university published a tribute to you.  About your years on campus, about your tragic death, but also about your family.  It seems that your colleagues and students alike loved you.  They saw a beautiful, intelligent woman who could analyze anything and everything to death.  But they also saw glimpses of a working mother who sometimes had to bring her daughter to class with her.  They observed a young couple madly in love; in fact, most of the girls hoped that someday they could live your fairytale lifestyle.  There's stories about you and Jack and you and Sydney in this article—did you know that?"

Irina shook her head.  "When I left, I was immediately debriefed and . . . by the time I was finally out, I focused on Jack and Sydney.  Not on what was said about Laura," she said softly.

"It's a wonderful article.  Made me want to nominate you for Woman of the Year," Madison continued sarcastically.  "But even as I read this, I thought _surely some of this is fake, just written to make her look good in death."  She looked at her squarely.  "So I contacted someone who was quoted in the article."_

Madison watched with satisfaction as Irina's eyebrows rose.  "Do you remember a young woman by the name Leslie Bishop?"

"She was in one of the first composition classes I taught," she began.  "She had just begun her graduate studies in English when I left.  Nice girl."

"Cut the crap, Irina.  You and I both know that she wasn't just a student of yours."

"Really," Irina challenged, her eyes flashing.

"You had her in class, yes, but you also served as a mentor of sorts for her.  Even urged her to attend graduate school and wrote quite the glowing recommendation for her, I must add."  Madison smirked.  "Young, brilliant—and she had quite the way with children, didn't she?  Which certainly helped you out, seeing as she was your nanny for four years."

She could tell she had scored a victory there by the way Irina's expression changed, if only for a moment.  "Yes.  Yes, Leslie baby-sat for Sydney on occasion.  She came from a large family, seven children, I believe.  Jack and I often thought that she knew more about being a parent than the two of us put together."

"That's almost verbatim what Leslie said to me yesterday," Madison agreed.  "She had lots of stories to tell about the Bristow family.  Talked my ear off for several hours."

"Really."

"Yup," Madison grinned triumphantly.  "I heard all about your home life from the time Sydney was two until she was six.  Turns out your daughter had a tendency to talk more than she should."

Irina gazed at her evenly.  "That is obviously something that has not changed over the years."

Madison's smile faded.  "The more she talked, the more I realized that my earlier presumptions were false.  You were not two distinct people during that time, were you.  There was not a line that could separate your professional personality from your alias.  I guess it was a bitch when you left, right?  And maybe that's why you didn't want me to take this job?  After all, if KGB Assassin of the Year couldn't compartmentalize, who's to say that I could?"  Her voice broke slightly as she continued.  "Not only does it seem that you betrayed your country, and Jack and Sydney, but . . . but . . . you betrayed yourself."  Her eyes glistened with tears.  "It scares me that you were able to do that."

Madison stepped back from the glass and swallowed.  "I know our time is limited, so I guess we'll just continue this when you get back."  She turned to walk away.

"Grace, wait," Irina pleaded, and she froze.  "About Leslie.  How is she?"

Madison thought for a moment as Irina gazed at her profile.  "She teaches high school English, seems to be very well regarded."

"And her family?"

She glanced back at Irina, a strange expression on her face.  "She didn't mention her brothers and sisters."

"No, not them.  Did she every marry or have children?"  Irina appeared surprisingly hopeful as she recalled the young woman she had known so many years ago.

Madison shook her head.  "She told me that she never met a man who looked at her the way Jack looked at you—I mean, at Laura."  She squared her shoulders and walked over to the first gate, waiting for it to open.

"You never did ask your one question," Irina called out, reminding her.  Madison paused and looked at the ceiling for a moment.  Did she dare ask the one question that had been tormenting her?

"Fine," she spat out, turning back around to face her.  She slammed her hands against the glass that separated them.  "It's simple really.  How do you endure ten _years undercover, pretending to love someone you're __supposed to hate?"_

Irina's lips curved into a small smile.  "You don't."

_tbc_


	12. Goodbyes

*looks around nervously*  Um, anyone remember this fic?

I know, I know.  It's been forever (or another 47 days, same difference) since this was updated.  Life and other fics (coughPurgatorycough) have gotten in the way lately.  Hopefully the next update won't take so long.  But for now, here's a reminder of where we left off and then the next chapter.

Thanks for reading!

~Jennifer

**_Twelve—Goodbyes_**

Madison slowly walked down the hallway, absent-mindedly noticing the guard who passed her carrying a package of post-it notes.  _"You don't."  Did Laura Brist—Irina Bris—dammit, get it right.  Did Irina Derevko actually have a heart?_

She reentered the main room of the Joint Task Force Center, listlessly looking for an empty cubicle so she could sit for a moment.  At last she was able to sink into a vacant chair, her mind still whirring.

"Thompson.  Did you forget we had a meeting?"  Devlin tapped his fingers impatiently on the top of the cubicle wall next to her.

She looked up.  "Oh yeah.  Sorry," she apologized.  "I went to see Derevko first because I didn't want to miss her before she left for Panama."

He shook his head.  "Come with me."  He jerked his hand and motioned for her to follow him.

They entered the same office they had spoken in before, and Madison quickly settled into a seat.  She watched as Devlin shut the door behind him and casually scooted the box of tissues closer to them.  "We need to talk."

"Is this about not wanting to go see the doctor the other day?  Look, I know it wasn't very professional of me, and I do apologize, but I really hate—"

"Grace," he interrupted.  He sighed wearily.  "It's not about that.  In fact, I wish it were that simple."

Madison stared at him warily.  "What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth to speak and regarded her sadly.  But before the words could even come out, a scenario flashed through her mind.  _No no no no nononono . . ._

"There's no good way to tell you this, Grace."  He reached over and touched her hand.  "Your father passed away this morning."

"No," she moaned quietly to herself.  She bit her lip to keep it from trembling.  "You're lying.  He was fine the other day.  You said so yourself."

"I know, I know.  The nurses say he was fine last night when they checked on him, but this morning at six he was unresponsive.  They immediately attempted to resuscitate him, but it was too late."  He paused, gauging her reaction.  "I'm so sorry."

Madison slumped in her chair, her mind and emotions in overdrive.  _I didn't get to say good-bye.  I haven't even seen him in eight or nine months._  Tears rolled down her face.  _I'm so sorry, Daddy.  I wish I had been there._

"An agent was sent out there this morning to assist with the funeral arrangements," Devlin continued.  "You know, of course, that you will be unable to attend.  I'm confident though that this agent will serve you well in your absence."

"You sent Ashley, didn't you."

"Yes.  Given your history as childhood friends, it made sense that she would go and take part in the planning.  When she gets back, she will contact you."

She leaned back in the chair and covered her eyes with her right hand.  She silently accepted his tissue with her left as the tears began to roll down her face.

"He died peacefully in his sleep," Devlin tried to comfort her.  She nodded dully, the impact of the news hitting her once more.  _He's really gone.  Totally and utterly gone._

Devlin patted her shoulder.  "I'm going to give you some time alone.  Let me know when you're ready to be taken back to your car."  He walked to the door and paused.  "I'm sorry that this had to happen, Grace, especially now.  Burke's out of town anyway; take a few days off from your job, mourn your loss instead of bottling it up.  If you need anything, I trust you remember the emergency codes your handler gave you."  She nodded, and he quietly shut the door behind him.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, blankly staring at the empty desk, before the door opened again.  She turned slightly and found her friend watching her.

"Devlin just told me.  I'm so sorry, Gracie," Isabel murmured, hugging her awkwardly.

Madison jerked back.  "Daddy used to call me that," she said in a detached voice, willing her voice to cooperate.  "Gracie.  I always knew if he called me Grace I was in trouble.  Or something was really, really wrong," she added as an afterthought, standing to throw away her crumpled tissue.  "He called me Grace when he told me Mom died."  Her legs buckled, and she quickly leaned back against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor.  Isabel sat down beside her, bringing the box of tissues with her.

"I've never lost a parent, so I really don't know what to say here," Isabel admitted quietly.  "Saying _I'm sorry_ seems so empty."

The two friends sat in silence, neither one knowing what to say.  "Ash is planning the funeral," Madison said dully as she folded her hands in her lap.  "That's where they sent her this morning."

"That explains why she looked so upset," Isabel commented.

"He was like a second father to her."

"I know."

"Sometimes when I would go and visit him, he couldn't remember if I was Grace or Ashley," Madison admitted.  "I got so mad at him one day for that.  I—I—" she choked back a sob.  "I'm so sorry, Daddy," she sobbed, staring at the ceiling.

*********

_Tap, tap, tap._  "Grace, I'm sorry to intrude, but just to be safe you need to leave soon," Devlin said quietly from the doorway forty-five minutes later.

Madison and Isabel looked up.  "I'll drive you," Isabel told her friend.  She rose from her spot on the floor and tossed the used tissues into the trash can.

Madison nodded and slowly stood up.  "Do you have a pair of sunglasses I can borrow, Iz?" she murmured as they passed Devlin and made their way back to Isabel's desk.

Isabel frowned.  "Somewhere in my desk.  Hang on a sec," she muttered.  "Here, have a seat."  Madison gratefully sank down into the chair beside the desk.  "Now, where did I put those glasses . . ."

Madison watched her rummage through the desk drawers before a commotion on the other side of the room caught her attention.

"Here they—what's going on?"  Isabel interrupted herself as she looked on with interest.

"All I can see from here is a group of suits," Madison replied, relieved to have something to distract her.

"Gee, imagine seeing _that here at the Ops Center," she said sarcastically.  "A bunch of old white guys in black suits."  Her eyes flashed.  "Wait a second," she slowly said.  "It looks like—no, that can't be right."  She craned her neck.  "You've seen her before, Gracie.  What does she look like?" she whispered._

Madison looked at her, confused.  "Who are we talking about?" she whispered back.

Isabel jerked her shoulder towards the crowd that was drawing nearer.  "Derevko.  Is that her they're leading out?"

Madison rose from her seat and glanced around.  There, at the back of the group of suits, was Irina.  She groaned softly.

Isabel swiveled around.  "What?"

"It's not fair.  She even makes a ball and chain look good."

Isabel snorted.  "Bristow sure seems to think so."  The two agents watched as Jack followed Irina through the main floor and down the hallway to the exit.

"He never took his eyes off of her, did he."

"Would you look away if you were responsible for a known terrorist?"

Madison shrugged.  "I don't think he was looking at her because she's a terrorist," she said softly.

Her friend eyed her sharply.  "You don't think that . . . do you?  Come on, Gracie, don't start getting any ideas."  She grabbed her by the shoulders and stared into her eyes; Madison reluctantly turned her attention from the guards who were changing shifts to her friend.  "I know this is a horrible time for you, and I know that for the most part you're going to be surrounded by people who don't really know you or what's going on.  And I know that even Ms. Independent Gracie is going to be needy and vulnerable, whether you want to admit it or not.

"But please, for the love of God, don't fall for Burke.  He's not one of the good guys.  You know that, and I know that.  Just try to stay strong, okay?"

Madison nodded slowly as she embraced her friend.  "I—I think I need more t-t-tissues," she mumbled as she tried to choke back fresh tears.

Isabel grabbed the box from her desk and picked up her purse.  "All right, let's get you back to your car."  They linked arms and made their way to the exit, Madison dabbing her eyes along the way.

She couldn't be certain, but she thought she felt Irina's eyes on her as she walked through the parking garage and climbed into the car.

*********

"Madison!"  She blearily raised her head from the throw pillow on the couch.  "Mmphf," she muttered incoherently, laying back down.

"Madison!  Madison, are you in there?  Are you okay?"  She reluctantly sat up, willing her swollen eyes to focus.  Where was that noise coming from—ah yes.  Her front door.

She walked across the room on unsteady legs and unlocked the door, swinging it open without even bothering to glance through the peephole.  Anything to make the pounding go away.

"Maddie?"

"Uh huh," she yawned, trying to smooth out her oily hair.  She failed miserably.  "Hi, Chris."

"Are you okay?"

She blinked and stared at him.  "Do I really _look okay, Christopher?" she asked sharply.  She paused, distracted, before squinting at him.  "Wait a sec.  Why are you back so early?"_

"Early?"  he echoed.  "I came back a day _late_ from my trip.  I called you and left a message on your voice mail telling you my change of plans, but I guess you didn't get that message either."

"Oh."

He gently pushed her inside her apartment and led her to the couch, making note of the tissues thrown haphazardly in the direction of the trash can, the sweat pants and t-shirt she had apparently been wearing for a few days, and the papers and pencils strewn all over the coffee table.

He delicately picked up a sheet of paper at random.  "This is good," he said surprised.  "You did this?"

Madison cringed.  _That's it.  My cover is blown.  "Yeah," she admitted hesitantly._

"Who is he?"

"My dad," she said softly, the tears slipping down her face once more.

Christopher selected another page, one of a man and a young girl—she was relieved she had only been sketching in black and white—as he wrapped his arm around her.  "You and your dad?"

She nodded, choking back a sob.  "He—I—"  She paused, trying to regain her composure.  "You should probably leave, Chris," she finally said.  "You don't want to be around me right now."

He pulled her closer to him and stroked her hair.  "Yes, I do," he insisted.  He glanced at the coffee table.  "Would it be wrong for me to assume that you've spent the last several days hidden away from the world, drawing all of these pictures?"

She shook her head slowly.  "I don't have any photos," she whispered.

He nodded as he understood what she meant.  "The fire.  It destroyed everything."

She looked up at him, realizing he had given her a way out.  "The fire . . . it was a year ago this week."  She focused her eyes on her hands, which were folded in her lap.  "I guess it hit me harder than I thought it would."

"You're allowed to feel things, you know.  You don't always have to be a logical, rational person," he pointed out.  "Some times you just have to follow your heart."  She opened her mouth to protest, but found she couldn't come up with an argument.  "Now, all I want you to do is lean back and relax, try to rest.  You look like you haven't slept in days."

"I'm not sleepy," she retorted, even as her eyes began to close.

Christopher looked down at the woman in his arms, surprised at how fiercely protective he was of her after just a few short weeks.

Madison snuggled closer to Christopher and drifted off to sleep, still thinking about his words.

Maybe it was time for her to follow her heart.

Or maybe not.

An image of Isabel instantly flashed in her mind.

_"But please, for the love of God, don't fall for Burke."_

She quickly dismissed the memory and clutched his hand to her face as she finally fell asleep.

*********

The following evening Madison sat alone in her apartment, clutching a pillow to her chest as her mind raced.  After a day and a half of nonstop togetherness, she had finally convinced him to go home.  _"I'll be fine,"_ she had said.  _"You don't need to worry about me.  I'll call you tomorrow morning, okay?"_

He had reluctantly agreed and slipped out the door and down the stairs.  That was two hours ago.

No, that was three hours ago.  She groaned.  "I give up," she said aloud.  She went to her bedroom and changed out of her pajamas—at least they were a clean pair, she mused—into a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.  She grabbed her keys and her cell phone, waiting until she was safely inside her car to dial a familiar number.  "I was calling to see if you had a suspense novel in stock," she recited.  Thirty seconds later she hung up and focused on her driving, appearing minutes later at a twenty-four hours grocery store.

She pulled into a spot, waiting for the lone shopper that had appeared to drive away before emerging from her vehicle.  She quickly slipped into the backseat of the car beside her.  "Thanks for getting to me so fast," she said, her heart still pounding.  She received no answer as the car quickly shifted into drive and headed towards the source of her salvation.  The source of her downfall.

Seven minutes later she was approaching the clanging barriers once more, wishing she could just run through them and find the one person who could calm her down.

The guard—why was she always stuck dealing with _him? she wondered—smirked at her.  "I can't let you in."_

"You what?"

"I can't let you in," he repeated smugly.

"But I'm on the list!" she protested.

"Take it up with Bristow.  I'm sure he'd love to explain this to someone else."

Madison stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.  When he didn't, she threw her arms up in the air and sighed in frustration as she spun on her heel, quickly retracing her steps.

Finding Jack took a matter of minutes.  She was surprised to find him sitting in a conference room with not only Kendall but Devlin as well.  She hesitantly knocked on the door and entered the room.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she began in her most professional voice, "but I came to speak with the prisoner and was told I needed to speak to you about it."  She looked at the three agents, hopeful for an explanation.

Devlin closed his eyes and sighed.

Kendall glared at Jack and gestured for him to speak.

Jack glared back at Kendall before fixing his gaze on Madison.

"The prisoner is no longer here, Agent Thompson."

"She was transferred?" Madison interrupted.  "Why didn't anyone tell—"

Jack held up a hand to stop her.  "No, she was not _transferred," he growled.  "In Panama.  She . . . escaped."_

_tbc_


	13. Proposals

_Thanks to Steph, Becky, and Ciara32 for looking at this._

**_Thirteen—Proposals_**

"I know, I know, I'm late.  Sorry."  Madison dashed up the steps and fumbled for her apartment key.  "Give me twenty minutes, and I'll be ready."

Christopher looked at his watch as he stepped away from her door.  "We have to leave in exactly twelve—no, eleven—minutes or we lose our dinner reservation."  He gave her a pointed look.  "What took you so long anyway?"

"A meeting at work ran over," she said truthfully as she turned the key in the lock and rushed inside, haphazardly throwing her purse down on the sofa.  "It was a last-minute thing, or I would have told you at lunch to reschedule our reservation."

He sighed.  "Ten minutes," he reminded her, tapping his watch.

"Sit.  Watch tv.  And tell me when I've got three minutes left, 'kay?"  She kissed him quickly and pushed him down on the couch, handing him the remote.  "You'll be amazed at how quickly I can get ready," she promised as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

"We'll see about that," he called out.

_Whew._  Madison leaned against the closed door for a few seconds, trying to get her overactive mind to slow down.

The last six weeks had flown by as she threw herself into her job with an intensity that had surprised some and worried others.  She and Burke had been together nonstop since her breakdown after her father's death; it was difficult to break away long enough to meet with her handler.

Or talk with Jack.

Her conversations with him had certainly been a surprise, she reflected as she dabbed foundation on her face.  After Irina's escape—if that's really what it was—Jack had met with her a few times, acting as part father figure, part mentor . . . part I-can't-believe-I'm-helping-someone-on-a-swallow-mission.

She couldn't help but wonder why he had decided to speak with her that first time.  The look on his face was far from pleased as he told her he was available to talk if she needed to discuss her op.  In fact, it looked more like—but no.  That wasn't possible.

It was insane.  Highly unlikely.

Or was it?

She stopped, the powder puff falling on to the counter as she recalled the last time she had spoken with him.  By week five of Irina's escape, Madison finally felt comfortable enough with Jack to say the one thing that kept coming to her mind as she reviewed all of her conversations with Irina, as she recalled every scrap of information she had read or heard or witnessed about Jack, Laura, and Irina.

_"I—I think she really did love you.  Irina."_

_He was silent for several minutes.  "I know," he said finally.  "I know."_

Her eyes grew wide as she contemplated this new theory.  If Irina loved Jack . . . and it sure did look like Jack loved Irina too . . . and Jack was talking to her practically against his will . . . had Irina asked him to speak with her in her absence?

It was almost sweet.  Touching.

For a wanted terrorist on the loose, at any rate.

"Seven minutes," Christopher yelled from the living room.

"I said a three minute warning, not seven," she yelled back as she finished applying her eye shadow.  "Are you sure you want to go out tonight?  I know you're missing your game."

"I'm taping it," he said distractedly.  "Six minutes."

She closed the mascara tube and grabbed her hair brush.  "Okay, one more time for the slow scientist."  She exited the bathroom and walked back to the living room.  "Three minute warning.  Three.  Not ten, or seven, or six.  Three.  Got it?"

"Not now, Maddie."  He waved her away.  "They're interviewing—"

She screamed.  "I could _kill_ you right now," she muttered.

He looked up long enough to laugh at her.  "Right."  He glanced at his watch, then looked at her.

"Going, going," she fumed as she slammed the bedroom door behind her.

It was really difficult to pick out the perfect outfit—to _quickly pick out the perfect outfit, she amended—when her mind was busy selecting the best way to throttle her target._

God, she needed a vacation.

"Like that's going to happen anytime soon," she muttered to herself.  They were gleaning more intel every week, but they were no closer to their goal of finding the weapon.  Rumor had it that it was being used on people already, which had dozens of agents scrambling.  What was Kelley Laboratories testing before they sold it on the black market?

Madison rummaged through her closet as she reflected on that afternoon's meeting.  All the players were there.  Devlin.  Kendall.  The unknown Agent Bentley, who had supposedly recommended her for this op.  She still wasn't sure she had met him before today.

Isabel.  Ashley.

But no Jack.

_"He's attending a funeral,"_ Devlin had explained.

_"An agent's wife was killed the other day,"_ Ashley had elaborated.  _"You know.  The car bomb that got all the news coverage?"_

She cursed under her breath as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.  _I forgot to ask her about Fiona again.  This was only the second time she had seen her friend since her return from Maryland.  Three weeks earlier both were too busy hugging and crying to think about work as they relived the funeral in the privacy of a conference room._

Today Madison had been busy avoiding the looks her two friends kept shooting her way as Devlin informed her about recent surveillance footage of Burke.  They all knew what this meant, where this was leading . . .

_Knock, knock._  "Three minutes," Christopher said cheerfully on the other side of the door.

She discarded this latest outfit and returned to the closet.  "Thanks," she called out.

Two minutes and forty-five seconds later she reappeared in her living room.  "Shall we?"

Christopher looked up from the television screen.  "I'm impressed.  I didn't think that you would—whoa."  He stared at her as she blushed from the scrutiny.  "You look beautiful."

"It's just a really nice dress," she said, dismissing the compliment.

He shook his head as he turned off the television and stood to join her.  "I wasn't talking about the dress.  I was talking about you."  He gazed at her.  "Your eyes."

"What about them?" she asked nervously.

"They're so expressive—I just feel like I can see all the way to your soul."

_That can't be good,_ she worried as they left her apartment and began the drive to the restaurant.

*********

"I'm glad we made it here on time," Madison said later that evening.  She was finally trying to relax.  _It's obvious that Devlin was exaggerating, she thought with a sigh of relief._

"It has been a wonderful evening, hasn't it?" Christopher grinned at her.  "But then, I feel like I've had ten weeks of wonderful evenings with you."

She looked up at him, her heart pounding.  "It's hard to believe we haven't even known each other three months," she said conversationally, hoping that she was making her point clear.

"But it seems like longer than that, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," she reluctantly admitted.  "It does."

She stared as he pulled a small box out of his suit jacket, as he began what was obviously a long and well-rehearsed speech.  She could only hope she was smiling and nodding in the correct places.

All she could hear was Devlin's voice echoing in her mind.

_"We propose that we step the mission up a notch.  You can't just be the girlfriend anymore, Grace.  It's time to move in for the kill."_

"Are you paying attention?" Christopher interrupted.

She looked up at him guiltily.  "I was just thinking about all of our wonderful times together, like you were saying," she smoothly lied.

He ran his fingers through his hair.  "I rehearsed this whole speech; can you tell?"  She giggled, and then stopped when he grabbed both of her hands and turned serious.  "Madison, I love you.  I know we haven't known each other long, and most people would find this crazy.  Heck, normally _I would find this crazy, but somehow, with you it's different.  I don't want to wait any longer to ask you.  Madison Greene, will you marry me?"_

Her eyes widened involuntarily at his final words.

_"It's time to move in for the kill."_

She swallowed and pasted on what she hoped was a smile.

"Yes!" she squealed.  "Yes, I will marry you."

_It's time to move in for the kill._

_tbc_


	14. Fuego

So if we've finally moved past "A Dark Turn" and the last chapter referenced "Endgame" and "Countdown," I wonder where we are in the timeline now . . . *whistles*

btw, the song at the end does not belong to me.  Obviously.

**_Fourteen—Fuego_**

_It would be so much easier if he wasn't employed by terrorists._

On the outside she grinned like a fool for Burke, bubbled at the office, waved her left hand around for all to see, whether they were interested or not.

On the inside she felt like a lead weight was pushing down on her more and more each day; soon she wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

Of course, in a few short weeks—eight to be exact, after what they had decided the night before—most people would expect that sentiment from her.

Except for those who knew her best.

"You're _marrying_ him?" Ashley screeched when she saw the ring on her finger.  "Have you lost your mind?"

_No, just my morals, beliefs, convictions.  Small stuff like that,_ Madison tried not to retort.

"I take it you won't be planning my bridal shower," Madison shot back dryly.  "Too bad.  I'm sure it would have been fun."

"Gracie, when you meet the love of your life and decide to marry him, not only will we plan the shower, we'll even wear ugly dresses for you and not even complain," Isabel joined in.

"Oh, be still my beating heart," Madison rolled her eyes dramatically as one hand clutched her chest.

They had her best interests at heart, she reflected as she walked away from them, but she could handle this.  Honestly.  This was just a sore subject for them and always would be.  What she needed from her friends right now was help in finding Fiona, although so far their efforts had been unsuccessful.  If she wanted to talk to someone about her impending marriage, which she did, there was only one CIA agent she wanted to talk to.

Unfortunately, she had been told days earlier that he was on a top-secret mission out of the country, with no expected return date.  Madison sighed and continued on her way to the medical wing.

"Agent Thompson, good to see you," the nurse greeted her.  "The doctor will see you in room 3."

"Thanks," she called out as she continued her journey.  "Hello, Doctor."

"Grace," he said with surprise as they entered the exam room together.  "I didn't actually expect you to show up today, given your loathing for me and all."

She rolled her eyes.  "It's nothing personal, I assure you."

"Whatever you say, Grace."  He patted the examining table.  "You just have to sit there today, I promise."

She warily hopped onto the table and sat down, swinging her legs.

"So have you had any side effects from the contraceptive we gave you?" he questioned.

She shook her head.  "I just need a refill."

He pulled out a prescription pad and scribbled on it for a moment.  "See?  This is as painless as it gets," he smiled as he placed the paper in her outstretched left hand.  "Whoa.  Nice rock," he admired.  "I take it you'll be needing this refill very soon if you're not already sleeping with him."

"Bite me," she spat out.  _Why the hell does my sex life has to be this guy's business?_

_Well, he _is_ your doctor, that annoying voice retorted._

_Whatever._

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Grace."  She quickly jumped off the table and walked to the door.  "Oh, one more thing."

"Yes?"

"When you go over to the pharmacy, make sure that they give you exactly what's written here, not the newest one on the market."

"There's a new kind of pill?" she questioned.

The doctor nodded.  "It received FDA approval last month.  It's not really any different from what you're taking, just enough so that when your med can be made as a generic, Pyper-Ferguson can still make even more revenue."

"Pyper-Ferguson produces lots of different kinds of drugs, don't they?"

"Yeah, they're one of the major players in pharmaceuticals—"

"What drugs are they testing right now?" she interrupted eagerly.

"Why do you care?"

Madison rolled her eyes.  _Wonderful, efficient __U.S.__ government.  The left hand doesn't know what the right is doing.  "It's pertinent to an investigation I'm working on."_

"I don't know a lot about the latest drugs in trials, but I'm sure our head pharmacist could help you.  She's on vacation this week, but I'm sure she could speak with you next week if necessary."

"That would be wonderful," Madison said gratefully.  "Thanks, Doctor."  She hurried down the hallway to the adjoining pharmacy and carefully placed her prescription in her purse.  She glanced at her watch.  She had the next two hours free before joining Burke for dinner.  To discuss wedding plans now that they had set the date the night before.  She bit her lip to keep from groaning as she walked down yet another long, sterile hallway.

And then stopped and stared as she saw the man lying on the bed on the other side of the glass.

Jack.

She carefully tiptoed in his room and hovered over him, trying to determine the extent of his injuries.  After several minutes she turned to read the medical chart hanging outside his door.  She stopped when she heard a coughing noise behind her.

"Irina sends her regards," he muttered with his eyes closed.

She hurried over to his side.  "What?"

"Irina."  He opened his eyes and gazed at her.  "In Mexico City.  You haven't heard?"

She shook her head.  "I heard you were on your way back from a mission  . . . not a good one, it looks like," she said, indicating the various tubes and monitors surrounding him.

He grimaced.  "I've had worse."  He briefly closed his eyes before continuing.  "She even had time to tell Sydney she loved her too before jumping off the roof."

"Oh God."

"Don't worry; she's alive.  She's talented like that," he said dryly as the monitors beeped and trilled in a cacophony of sounds.  "But she wanted me to tell you hello."

Madison waved her hand around.  "Is it safe to talk about her here?" she whispered.

"No bugs," he said drowsily.  "Interfere with all the hardware in here.  I'm sure Marshall could create something, but why have him spoil everyone's fun?"

She snickered.  Jack Bristow cracking a joke . . . surely a sign of the apocalypse.

"Not to be rude—but where's your daughter?  Shouldn't she be with you right now since you're . . . you're . . ."

"Surviving a near-death experience?" he supplied.  He blinked.  "It's obvious you don't know how the Bristow family works.  The more pain I'm in, the more reward she gets.  Last time it was apparently a make-out session with that 'handler' of hers.  This time it's a weekend getaway."  He smiled humorlessly.  "I shudder to think what will have to happen to me in order to see any grandchildren."

Madison stared at him wide-eyed.  It was official—a doped up Jack Bristow could make the comedy circuits.  Or at least amuse the hell out of ninety-nine percent of the Agency.  "She's leaving you alone just to go out of town?"

"Cut out the concerned daughter look, Grace.  It's unnecessary.  I told her on the return flight that she needed a break from this life.  It just so happened that _he_," Jack spat out the word, "was already thinking along the same lines.  I hate that," he finished quietly to himself.

She watched his drooping eyes fight for control as he struggled to keep them open.  "I'm going to go now and let you rest."

"Okay," he slurred.  "Contact me if anything changes on your op."

"Well," she trailed off.  She leaned closer to his bed and held up her left hand.

"Don't blind me," he grimaced.  "He must really love you."

"He just thinks he does.  We haven't known each other long enough for him to really love me," she dismissed.

"One cup of coffee with Laura and I was ready to propose to her on the spot," he retorted.  "Trust me.  He may be who we consider a criminal simply because he does things that we deem horrible because they're for the other side.  But I think this Burke guy really does love you."

It was her turn to grimace.  "I know," she said softly.  "I know."

*********

Fifteen minutes later Madison exited the elevator and returned to the main floor of the Joint Task Force Center.

"You're taking a trip together?" she overheard an agent say—the one who had pointed her to a vacant desk one night, she remembered.  "What's next?  A diamond?"

"I'm saving that for the next trip," a second agent said absent-mindedly as he twirled a gold coin between his fingers.

"No way.  You haven't already bought the ring . . . you've had it for months, haven't you."

Madison eased into Ashley's chair, conveniently near this conversation.  It was sad that she was reduced to spying on the love lives of her colleagues for entertainment.  She grinned.  _Too bad there's no popcorn around here._

"I have not had it for months," he retorted hotly.

"Mike, I know you.  Hell, we _all_ know you.  Even _she_ could probably figure you out," he gestured towards Madison, "and she doesn't even know you."

Madison looked up quickly.  "Excuse me?"

"Come on.  You were listening.  Not that I blame you.  It's not everyday that we get a confession this big out of Mikey over here."  He waved his hand towards the desk he was leaning against.  "Come here.  It would be nice to have an objective woman's opinion on this."

She giggled and walked over to join them.  "I'm Grace, by the way."  She held out her hand.

"Eric, and this is Mikey over here."

"Wait a sec."  The pieces were rapidly falling into place.  "You were the guy who did that brush pass with me a few months ago."  She turned to Eric.  "Let me guess.  The woman in question has long brown hair and can't keep her hands off him either?"

Eric snorted.  "You took her with you on a brush pass?" he said to his friend.  "God, you have it bad."

"If you wouldn't mind, I'm trying to finish this report so I can leave," he said emphatically.

"Oh yes.  The fabulous weekend getaway.  Now, Mr. Vaughn, before we were joined by the lovely Grace—are you seeing anyone right now, Grace?"

"Um, I'm on a swallow mission."

"So I'm guessing you're not available to go see a movie?  Right.  Moving on.  So, Mikey, we were discussing rings.  Is it or is it not true that you already have a diamond just waiting to be placed on Syd's finger?"

He ducked his head.  "I plead the fifth."

Eric and Madison snickered in unison.  "We'll take that to mean yes," Eric grinned.

"Oh, that's a definite yes," Madison agreed.  "Come on, Mikey.  How long have you had the ring?"

He threw his hands up in frustration.  "If this goes past the two of you, I will hurt you both."

"Like I'm going to report this to Kendall?  Please."

Two pairs of eyes swiveled towards Madison.

"I'm not telling anyone!" she said in frustration.  At their wary looks, she quickly added, "Come on.  Like I _want to be on Irina and Jack's bad sides?"_

"She's got a point there," Eric said.  "So Mikey, when was it?  Just please tell me you weren't dating the dishrag when you bought it."

"Alice is a very nice lady, thank you very much, and no, I didn't buy it when I was with her.  Either time I was with her."

"You dated the same woman for two different periods of time while having the hots for Sydney?  And Jack didn't kill you?"  Madison whistled.  "Obviously then he gives his approval, because otherwise, Mikey?  You would so be dead right now.  Literally."

"Thanks for reminding me of my future in-laws," he said dryly.  "Can't wait to spend the holidays with _them_."

Eric tapped the desk.  "Enough stalling.  The ring?"

"Okay, fine."  He paused.  "Remember when I got hauled into Barnett's office because of the inappropriate nature of my relationship with Syd?"

"Which time?"

"The first time, you idiot."

"Oh yeah, weasel sold you out.  Wasn't that because of—oh, you didn't buy it back then."

He ducked shamefacedly.

"You _did_ buy it back then!  Oh my God, this is worse than I thought," Eric groaned.

"What?" Madison questioned.  "When did he buy it?"

"See, Balls of Steel over here bought Sydney a Christmas present after knowing her for what, two months?"

"Actually, I bought it over Thanksgiving, so about seven weeks."

Eric rolled his eyes.  "Fine.  After knowing her for seven weeks, a mere forty-nine days, he bought her this antique picture frame and gave it to her for Christmas during one of their meetings."

"Aw.  That's sweet," Madison smiled.

"Don't go soft on me, Grace.  You're on my side, remember?"

Her smile faded.  "Oh yeah."  She tilted her head.  "So the picture frame was bought after knowing her for seven weeks.  Did you wait for your eight week pseudo-anniversary before buying the diamond?"

He scowled.  "This is why I never mentioned it before," he muttered.  At Eric's meaningful expression, he shook his head.  "No," he admitted.  "I bought the engagement ring—um—actually—"

"Spit it out!"

"The antique store was next to the jewelry store," he blurted out.  "And I, um, kinda sorta bought the ring first."

Eric's jaw dropped.  "Man, you really _do_ have balls of steel."

"I didn't mean to buy it," he tried to defend himself.  "It just happened."

Madison shook her head.  "I don't get it.  You barely saw her over those seven weeks, I'm sure, and yet you impulsively bought an engagement ring?"

He smiled.  "I know, it's crazy, isn't it?  But I just knew somehow."

"If you knew, then why did you hook up with dishrag again?  Because—"

"Because denial is a beautiful thing," he laughed.  "And man, think about Syd's parents.  Would you like to have to deal with them for the rest of your life?"

"Men," Madison muttered to herself.  She filed this conversation away to examine later.

"I suppose I can give you that one," Eric relented as another agent rushed towards them.

"Mr. Weiss, Mr. Vaughn, thank goodness you're here!  Oh, excuse me, Miss Thompson, I didn't see you standing there.  My apologies.  So, gentlemen, I was in my office—I have a really nice office, that was very kind of the CIA to give me such a great place to work after all those years where I worked against them, you know?—anyway, I was just sitting in my office, trying to fix those headphones that Kendall broke the other day when you guys were in Mexico City.  I've never been to Mexico City myself, but it sounds like a dangerous city to me, so maybe I won't tell my mom I've been there; I don't need to worry her."

"Okay, seriously, is there a point to all of this?" Eric interrupted.

He blinked.  "Of course there's a point, Mr. Weiss, otherwise I would not have interrupted your discussion.  As I was saying, I was in my office when this new computer program I was working on began flashing on my screen.  See, I've been cross-listing CIA agents and their aliases into this database that takes information for various 911 emergency response services across the country as well as their similar services from around the globe.  You know, it's really amazing what kind of emergency service you get in certain parts of the world; I know there's a few places I never want to be left stranded or wounded—"

"What did the program come up with?" Madison asked, smiling to soften the interruption.

He pushed a piece of paper into Vaughn's hands.  "Back when I was at SD-6 I had to take Miss Bristow to work one day because she had a flat tire and her roommate had already left for class.  And my memory, it's horrible when I'm trying to remember addresses and phone numbers, so I kept repeating Miss Bristow's address over and over and over again until I got there to pick her up, and for whatever reason, it stuck in my mind.  4260 Cochran Street, 4260 Cochran Street, 4260 Cochran Street—"

"We know Syd's address, Marshall.  Why on earth would you come over here to—oh God."  The wrinkles in his forehead instantly intensified.  He placed the paper he had just read into Eric's hands.  "Please tell me I did not just read what I think I just read."

"911 emergency response, calling to say that the house across the street, 4260 Cochran, appeared to be on fire after some sort of fight broke out.  LAFD and other emergency units were immediately dispatched," Eric summarized aloud.

"Sydney—she's there packing for our trip—she's _there_," Vaughn said horrified as he pointed to the paper with a shaking hand.  "Oh God, Sydney, hang on."  He pulled his keys out of his pocket; Eric immediately grabbed them as he let the paper float onto the desk.

"I'm driving," he said firmly.

"Come on," Vaughn urged, rushing towards the door.

"Call me when you know that Miss Bristow is safe!  My direct line is—" Marshall stopped as the two agents disappeared from view.  "Never mind.  I'll just, you know, wait and see what my computer program says."

Madison patted his arm comfortingly.  "I'm sure they'll let everyone know what's going on as soon as there's news."

"Miss Bristow is very resourceful; I'm sure she's already outside of the house, trying to rig a fire hose out of something completely unexpected.  Right?"

"Sure," she said lightly.  "After all, with her parents, how could she not pull off the impossible?"  The full impact of what she had said hit her a few moments later.  "Oh no.  Jack . . ."

"What?"

"Someone has to tell him."

*********

The commercials scrolled across the screen as Christopher nudged his fiancé.  "Maddie, we need to get you to bed."

"I'm awake," she mumbled as she tried to force herself into a sitting position on the couch.

"No, you're not.  I'll just let myself out and—what?"

"Turn it up," she ordered, motioning to the television.  Wordlessly he did as she requested as she turned her attention to the news anchor.

"And in other news, fire fighters are still trying to extinguish flames at a four alarm fire on Cochran Street.  Several homes have been evacuated . . ."

"Whoa.  That's one hell of a fire," he commented as they stared at the screen.

Madison nodded absently, trying to keep the tears from her eyes.  _Come on, she's got to survive this.  She's got to.  This will _kill_ them._

She jerked when the television flickered off.  "What are you doing?" she burst out angrily.

"You don't need to torment yourself by watching another fire.  What you watched just now is probably enough to give you nightmares anyway," he worried as he kissed her the top of her head.

_Nightmares?  From a fire . . . oh._

"I'll be fine," she dismissed his concern.

He looked at her doubtfully.

"Really, I will."

He didn't even blink.

"Besides, how would you know if I have nightmares or not?  It's not like," she paused, her face flaming, "it's not like you would know that or anything," she finished lamely.

Christopher rolled his eyes.  "Well, in eight weeks you can prove me wrong," he retorted, leaning in to kiss her.

She sighed and returned his kiss, then snuggled up beside him as they stared at the blank screen.  If Sydney was . . . _dead . . . she shuddered involuntarily.  To say it would devastate Jack—and Irina, wherever she was—would be an understatement.  But if there was any chance that she could be alive—after all, look at how easily Irina had returned from the dead, she thought humorlessly—they would stop at nothing to find her.  Bring her back home._

For the first time on this mission Madison felt truly alone.  She no longer had Irina to confide in, to listen to her rare stories about her own mission.  She no longer had Jack to cryptically comment on Burke and what might be going on in his head.  She no longer had Ashley and Isabel to chat and giggle and vent with about work; this mission had built a huge dividing wall between the three of them.  Ashley and Isabel on one side.  Her—_Grace, not Madison, she reminded herself—on the other._

No family.  No friends.  No confidantes.

All she had was the man sitting beside her.

"Chris?" she murmured.

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking.  We already have the license, right?"

"You saw the clerk hand it over to us the other day."

"Yeah.  And well, we don't really have lots of people to invite, do we?  I mean, between the two of us, the only real family either one of us has to invite is your sister Bethany and her husband and daughter."

"So . . ."

"So I was thinking.  Do you think you could take next Friday off?"

*********

Late Friday afternoon Devlin re-entered his office, avoiding the stack of phone messages his secretary Kaye had waiting for him.  He sank into his chair and allowed his eyes to rest for a mere moment while his e-mail checked for new messages.

In less than a week the Agency had been turned upside down.  One Bristow was missing—presumed dead as soon as the results came in.  Another Bristow was fighting the urge to return to the bottle, while the third Bristow—if she could be classified as such—remained at large.  Not to mention all the other agents impacted by this—Vaughn, Dixon, Weiss, Flinkman.  And Tippin.  Wherever he was and whoever he was now, Devlin thought cryptically to himself.

He opened his eyes to see the plethora of new mail awaiting him.  One in particular caught his eye.  Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, this address had never actually been used before.  Its true owner did not escape him though.

He opened the message and allowed the attachment to download, confident that the security software would have caught any viruses.  He hoped.

He was surprised when a song began to play.  It took a moment for him to place the music—he was grateful she had chosen a song he would at least know, not some of that modern garbage they classified as music—but understanding was not long in coming.

Devlin laughed as the full implications of the e-mail became clear to him.  He grinned broadly as he played the song again and opened up a blank message to send to Agent Bentley.  It appeared that it was time to celebrate.

_"Because we're going to the chapel_

_ and we're gonna get married,_

_ Going to the chapel of love."_

_tbc_


	15. Presents

**A/N:** The quote used at the end is a proverb, author unknown.

**_Fifteen—Presents_**

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Ashley asked as she uncapped the bottle in her hands.

"It's this or we let Burke think that I'm going gray before I turn thirty," Madison said dryly as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.  "See?"  She pointed to the top of her head.  "I have roots."

"Microscopic roots," Ashley countered.

"White blonde roots," Isabel pointed out, staring at her.  "God, you do look like you're going gray."  She snickered.  "So how does it feel to be the old lady of the group?"

Madison scowled.  "Could we just get started already?  I don't have all day to hang out in the bathroom and color my hair."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Burke," Ashley said sarcastically.  She stared meaningfully at Madison's left hand.  "Sure you want to leave that rock on while we do this?  We wouldn't want to get your precious diamond dirty."

"How did it go meeting the in-laws last week?" Isabel interrupted.  Ashley picked up the box lying on the counter and studied it carefully, ignoring them.

"As best as could be expected," Madison shrugged.  She leaned her head down as Isabel squirted the cream into her scalp.  "To say that Bethany was surprised would be an understatement."

"Well, if someone you're very close to walked in and said they had gotten married without telling you, I think you have a right to be shocked," Ashley muttered.

"She was pretty understanding about it—once she was able to speak, that is," Madison laughed.  "By the end of the day we had her blessing, which was important to Burke; he's really close to his big sister.  You know, you two would like her.  If we were in different circumstances . . ."

"But we're not.  So.  How long do we have to leave this goop on you?"  Ashley asked.

"Twenty minutes," Isabel replied.  She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket.  "Okay, timer's set."

"Thanks for giving up your lunch break, you two," Madison said hesitantly.  "I always make a mess of this when I dye my hair by myself."

"Just consider it our wedding present to you," Ashley said under her breath.

"Ash!"  Isabel swatted her arm.  "You promised," she said meaningfully.

"But—"

"Try harder," Isabel said firmly.  "I mean it."  The three friends stood in the bathroom in silence, each trying to think of a safe topic.  A few minutes later Madison voiced the one thought that kept returning to her mind.

"I hate to keep pestering you about this, but have you found anything on—"

"Your friend at the little record label, yeah, yeah," Ashley interrupted.  "Fiona whatever?  The initial search turned up nothing, the more thorough search didn't find her either.  I was starting to think she just vanished when—"

"Tell Gracie your idea," Isabel said excitedly.  She turned to Madison.  "This is good."

Ashley rolled her eyes.  "Well, I started thinking.  As quickly as she disappeared from her job and all, and since there's no reason to suspect foul play—nobody reported her missing in the state of California; I checked that too—I started to wonder if someone helped her vanish."

"Meaning?"

"What if she's in the program?"  Ashley asked triumphantly.

"Ooh," Madison said softly.  "I never thought about that, but it almost makes sense.  Fiona in witness protection . . . maybe."

"We're trying to get clearance to find out if that's what happened to her," Isabel continued.  "We should get word in a week or so if we're on the right track or not.  Sorry this is such slow going, Gracie."

"I'm sure you're doing your best," Madison conceded as she twisted the diamond on her ring finger.  "Besides, you've got other things to work on."  She abruptly switched to agent mode.  "Has your research on the clinical trials at Kelley Laboratories turned up anything?"

Isabel shook her head.  "We've been going through all the drugs that are currently undergoing FDA approval, investigating any FDA agents, the chemical composition of the drugs . . . you name it, we're looking into it.  And all we've come up with is a big heap of nothing."  She sighed.  "It's almost as if," she paused.

"Almost as if what?" Madison asked.

Ashley shook her head.  "Don't say it, don't say it!"  She covered her ears briefly.  "This girl does not need those ideas in her head," she gestured towards Madison.

Madison rolled her eyes.  "Could someone please fill me in?  What on earth are you talking about?"

"Um," Isabel hesitated.  "It's just, um, well, we keep coming up on all these dead ends, and you know, that wedding picture of the two of you—"

"It was taken on the steps of the courthouse.  It's not like they were in a tux and a white dress," Ashley interrupted, rolling her eyes.

"As I was saying," she shot a dirty look at her friend, "a part of me kinda sorta not really but in a way does wish that Burke wasn't evil."  She exhaled loudly.  "I know, I'm crazy, right?  He's the enemy, he's a cretin, it's horrible that you have to put up with him . . . ."

"Don't listen to Iz.  She saw one picture of the two of you and is certain you two have 'it,' whatever 'it' is."  Ashley yawned.

Madison snickered.  "You think Chris and I should really be a couple?  Good one, Izzy.  Sounds like someone's been reading too many trashy romance novels lately," she teased.

"I have not," Isabel pouted.  "I just wish that things could be different for you two."

"I don't," Ashley muttered.  "The sooner we close this operation down, the better."

Madison stared up at the tiles on the ceiling, avoiding both of their comments.  "So," she said brightly, "how many minutes until we wash off this stuff?"

*********

"You're home early," Madison said in a surprised voice that evening.  She threw her keys down on the kitchen counter and slung her purse over a chair.

"So are you," came Christopher's muffled reply as he buried his face in her hair.  "I guess we were thinking the same thing."

_Uh-oh.  What am I supposed to be thinking?_  "I guess so," she replied uncertainly as she leaned up to kiss him.

He grinned at her.  "Liar."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Do you want to spend tonight on the couch, my dear?" she said sarcastically.

"Only if you're there too," he shot back.

She giggled and let him kiss her again.  "What were we talking about?" she asked him several minutes later.

"I was just going to comment that we both left work early today."  He grinned wickedly.  "It looks like we want to get our five week anniversary off to a good start."

"Right," she said in a confident tone, even as she knew she was lying through her teeth.  Not that she didn't find him attractive, and nice—except for the whole terrorist bit, of course; that was far from nice—but . . . she shouldn't be enjoying this assignment so much.  She really shouldn't.

"How was work today?" she asked as she scooted out of his arms and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water.

He made a face.  "I don't want to talk about work, Maddie."

"Talking about work will get you everywhere with me," she teased.  _If he only knew . . ._

"It's . . . work.  This merger is driving me nuts, I'm sick of working with these new people, and part of me just wants to quit my job," he burst out.  Her eyes widened.  _What the hell?  Where did _this _come from?_

"Quit?  Why?"

"There's some stuff going on, certain people I work with now . . . I don't want to go into it, Maddie.  I want to forget the name Pyper-Ferguson until Monday morning, okay?"

She nodded slowly.  "Okay."  She looked at him hesitantly.  "I didn't mean to intrude," she said softly.

He ran his fingers through his hair.  "You're fine.  Don't worry about it."  His face brightened suddenly.  "Let's order in tonight.  Chinese sound okay?"

"Yeah," she said automatically.  She opened up a drawer.  "I think we put the menus are in here."

He stared at the paper for a moment and then picked up the cordless phone.  "Oh, I almost forgot," he said as he began to dial.  "There was a package outside the door for you when I got home today."

"A package?" she echoed.  _Who would be sending me—__Madison__—anything?_

"It's on the couch," he replied as someone answered the phone.  "Hi, I'd like to place an order to be delivered."

Heart pounding, she retrieved the box from the couch and examined it.  It was addressed to "Mrs. Madison Burke" and postmarked the day before.  There was no return address, she noted as she lifted the box to her ear.  Nothing.

She slowly returned to the kitchen with the box in her hand.  Christopher hung up the phone and smiled at her as he sat down at the table.  "Dinner's on its way.  So what's inside the box?"

"I don't know.  I guess I should open it," she said doubtfully.

"What a novel idea," he retorted.  He stretched and opened the junk drawer.  "Here," he said, handing her the scissors.

She sighed and broke through the tape to open the box, removing a second, smaller box and a card.

"Who's it from?" he asked curiously.

She scanned the card, looking for a name.  "This old great aunt of mine," she said finally.  "It has to be from her.  She always forgets to sign her name.  I wonder how she heard about us getting married though," she wondered aloud.

"Who cares?  What'd she give us?" he asked eagerly.

She laughed out loud at the look on his face.  "Now, now, you didn't even read the inside of the card."

He rolled his eyes and snatched the card from her fingertips.  "'The torch of love is lit in the kitchen,'" he read aloud.  "Huh?  She forgets to sign her name, but she remembers to write _that_?"

"That's Great Aunt Laura for you," she answered easily as she pulled the tape off the second box and peered inside.

"What is it?"

Silently, she pulled the object out of the box and placed it on the table.

It was a shiny new toaster.

_tbc_


	16. Confidantes

**A/N: **The gadgets mentioned in this part are borrowed from 1.04, "A Broken Heart," and 1.10, "Spirit."

**_Sixteen–Confidantes_**

"You still have that newlywed glow," Dorothy remarked as she placed Madison's sandwich on the table in front of her.  "How long have you been married now?"

Madison forced a smile and looked up at her older friend.  "Eight weeks this Friday."

"Two months already," she mused.  "Seems like just yesterday you walked in here, new to L.A.  And now you're married."  She shook her head.  "If you need anything, just yell."  With that, she winked and disappeared into the kitchen.

Madison absent-mindedly paged through a magazine while she ate her lunch.  She read about various foreign locales and how to travel there on a budget, but the article that impressed her was written by someone familiar, she realized as she stared at the small photo by the byline.  _The waiter on his first brush pass_, she remembered.  She smiled to herself as she left the restaurant and slipped inside the waiting taxi down the street.

It truly was a small world after all.

*********

"Miss Thompson!"  He rushed down the hallway to where she stood in the middle of the Ops Center.  "It's been awhile."

She smiled at him warmly.  "Marshall, right?"  He nodded.  "Thanks so much for meeting with me and designing the op tech," she continued.  "I really do appreciate it."

"It was nothing," he said shyly.  "Come here—let me show you all the cool stuff I've got."  Madison followed him into his office.  "They let you have a drum set in here?" she asked.

"Just don't tell Mr. Devlin," he grinned.  "Although I've got a song written about him that I think he would like—want to hear it?"

Her eyes danced even as she shook her head no.  "Sorry, I've got a lot of work ahead of me this afternoon.  Maybe another time?"

"You bet," he agreed amiably.  "Okay, Miss Thompson—"

"I told you, call me Grace," she chided.

"Fine, Miss—I mean, Grace.  I was looking over your op on Friday—just your basic Fourth of July company picnic, right?—and decided to go a little old school."

She stared at him blankly.  "Huh?"

"What I mean is, I took a few things that I had already designed and tweaked them a bit."

Her face cleared.  "Oh.  That's fine," she said.  "Just as long as it works."

"Oh, they will work," he assured her.  "I guarantee it."  He stretched out his hand to pick up a purse and a pair of glasses, knocking off a stack of computer disks in the process.  "Whoops," he muttered to himself.  "Don't worry, I'll pick them up later," he said when she bent down to retrieve the scattered disks.

Madison shrugged.  "Okay.  So what have we got?"

The two agents spent the next few minutes examining the purse, complete with a parabolic microphone, and the sunglasses with the telephoto lenses.

She removed her compact from her purse and stared at her reflection critically.  "I don't really think I look super-swank, Marshall, but the glasses are great," she praised him.  "You're a genius."

Marshall blushed.  "I just hope they help you with this mission you're on.  I wanted to make sure you had the very best op tech this weekend; maybe you'll be able to wrap this up soon."

"Doubtful," she sighed, removing the sunglasses.  "At the rate we're going, this op will never end."  She shook her head and decided to change the subject.  "Who else used these?  You mentioned that these were some of your classic gadgets."

She knew instantly who the agent was when she saw Marshall's smile fade.  "Sydney," she said softly.  He nodded and swallowed hard, his eyes filling with tears.  "How is everybody doing?"

Marshall walked over to a box of tissues and loudly blew his nose before answering.  "It's hard," he said finally.  "It's been hard on all of us.  And I still—I still—I still forget sometimes.  You know, that she's gone.  Like, I perfected this gadget that I've been working on forever, and I ran out there to her desk . . . and there was some new kid sitting there."  He paused.  "She—she was a good friend.  And I miss her.  We _all_ miss her."

Madison reached over and hugged him; she was surprised when he hugged her back.  "Thanks," he muttered as he released her and grabbed another tissue.

"I'll let you get back to work," she said quietly.  At the door she paused.  "Thanks for doing this for me, Marshall.  I appreciate it."

He nodded, and she softly closed the door behind her.  She slipped the sunglasses in her new purse and carried it in her left hand as she walked through the Ops Center.

"Grace," she heard a voice call out ahead of her.

Madison looked to her left and smiled.  "Hey, Eric.  What's up?"

His expression remained serious.  "We need you in the briefing room."

"Okay," she agreed, falling into step with him.  "Did we finally track down the weapons?"

Weiss silently led her into the briefing room and indicated where she should sit.  It was one of the smaller rooms, barely large enough for the two large tables that were pushed together.  Madison smiled at Ashley and Isabel as she scooted her chair in, but she got no response.  Weiss sat down beside her, and Ashley began to speak.

"Four months ago you asked me to investigate the disappearance of one of Madison's co-workers."  She opened a file folder and pushed it across the table.  "Grace, is this a picture of the woman you wanted us to find?"

Madison studied the photograph.  The hair was different, and her trademark smile was missing, but . . . "Yeah, that's Fiona."  She looked up.  "Why?  Did you find her in witness protection?"

Isabel shook her head.  "You're looking at a picture of Gabrielle Brochand.  She's a freelancer who in the past has worked with K-Directorate and the Triad."

Madison willed her jaw not to drop.  "Who is she working for now?" she asked calmly.

"No one.  Grace, her body was found in the Pacific about three months ago," Ashley said quietly.  "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"She's—she's dead."  She closed her eyes, ordered the tears not to fall.  There was no need to cry over someone who wasn't who she seemed.

Suddenly her eyes flew open.  "She played me . . . just like I'm playing him," she realized.  Isabel looked at her sympathetically while she continued.  "But what did she want from me, from Madison?  Madison's just a nobody."

"That's where it gets interesting," Weiss interjected.  "When her body washed ashore, she was just another Jane Doe.  She wasn't identified as Gabrielle until a few days ago, after the video surfaced."

"Video?"

"Her execution was filmed," Ashley said grimly.  "They wanted us to know who was responsible."

"Monday afternoon Agent Bentley received a copy of the video from one of his contacts.  To be honest, we weren't even sure who the woman was until we finally got it out of her killer."

"You talked to her killer?" she asked, surprised.

"Ironically, he's already a prisoner here.  His face is never on camera, but that cocky British accent of his is unmistakable," Weiss added.

"I want to see him."

All three looked at her, aghast.

"No way, Gracie."

"You're wasting your time, Grace."

"Grace Thompson, I'm not letting you near that devil!"

Madison rolled her eyes.  "Do we have anything else to discuss?"  All three slowly shook their heads no.  "We can meet again later this afternoon.  I don't have to be home until six."

Ashley muttered something, and Isabel promptly smacked her.  "You suck at keeping your word, Ash."

Weiss snickered.

"On that note, I'll see you later."  A hint of a smile crossed Madison's face.  "I have a prisoner to interrogate."

*********

Madison walked down the familiar hallway, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" the guard smirked at her.  He looked her up and down.  "It's been awhile."

She sighed; why did she always have to deal with this cretin?  "I'm here to see the prisoner," she said automatically.  "The new prisoner, that is."

"You're not authorized to see him," the guard began.

"She's being added to the list now," Weiss called out, walking up from behind her.  He glared at the guard.  "So let her in."

Madison looked gratefully at Weiss as the guard grimaced.  "Fine."  He entered in a series of numbers and allowed her to pass him, journeying once more down the long corridor.

It was only as she neared the glass that Madison realized she didn't even know who she was approaching.  It was a he, according to the guard, and he was classified as a devil by Isabel—not that _that_ told her much.

Nothing prepared her for the blond hair and blue eyes that bore into hers.  She mentally cursed herself.

Mr. Sark.

She stood there for a few minutes, giving off what she hoped was her coldest expression.  She would need it to battle wits with him.  Despite his age, he was already legendary in the intelligence world.

And yet here he was, behind bars.  Her lips twisted into a cold smile.  A smirk, some might call it.

If she could talk with Irina Derevko, this should be nothing.

"I'm Agent Thompson," she began.  "I am here to discuss a video tape which the CIA has recently acquired.  I presume you know what I am referring to?"

He sauntered over to the glass.  "I presume _you_ are referring to your precious friend Fiona being shot in the head three times.  Isn't that correct, _Madison_?"

Maybe this wouldn't be as easy as she had hoped.

"She was only Fiona to you.  Everyone has an alias, do they not?"  Sark paused, reflecting.  "I identify myself as Mr. Sark, even though that was not my given name at birth.  Irina posed for ten years as Laura Bristow.  And you, Agent Thompson—surely you didn't think I was unaware of _your_ alias?  I wonder what that scientist—Christopher, is it?—would say if he knew that his little wife didn't really answer to the name Madison, that she is actually a government agent."

"Obviously Gabrielle Brochand was in your employ.  The question is, in what capacity?"

"Does it really matter now?  In the end, she failed on her mission."  He looked at her meaningfully.  "In that way, she reminds me of you."

"What was her assignment?" Madison asked through gritted teeth.

"Nothing extraordinary.  Insinuate herself in the life of someone, become that person's confidante . . . sound familiar?"

"It appears that you are as interested in the biological weapons as we are," she stated with a calmness she didn't feel.  "Why?  Are your own associates so inferior that you had to piggyback our operation?"

He shook his head.  "You don't know yet, do you."

She took his bait.  "I don't know what?"

"Come now, Grace, you didn't really believe all of your FDA research, did you?  You had to suspect that some of those records were falsified."  She kept her mouth closed, biting back the retort welling up inside her.  "Next you'll say that you believe all of your agents are loyal to your country."  He laughed.  "You'll learn differently soon enough."  He flashed her a daring smile.

The two remained silent as one agent smirked and another fought to keep her temper.

"By the way," he spoke again, "I must say you married well.  Christopher Burke . . . he's a brilliant scientist.  He's excellent at his job."

Madison held her breath.

"He was instrumental in getting the FDA approval early.  You must thank him from all of us for that," Sark added as an afterthought.

"Early?" she echoed.

"Yes.  It hit the markets a few months ago.  But I'm sure you and the CIA already knew that," he smirked.

"Thank you for your cooperation," she growled.  "I'll be in touch."  She spun on her heel and returned down the long hallway.

He waited until she disappeared from view.  "Doubtful."

*********

"Thanks for letting me see him."  Madison sank onto Weiss's desk.  "I owe you."

"Doesn't everybody?" he quipped.  "So what did Pretty Boy have to say?"

She shook her head.  "You're not going to believe this.  He said that—wait.  Where are Ashley and Isabel?  They should hear this too."

"They got a phone call about five minutes ago and high tailed it out of here."  He shrugged.  "They didn't say when they would be back."

"Oh."  She quickly relayed her conversation with Sark.

Weiss whistled.  "So not only are the weapons a threat, but they're being used already?  God, what next?"

"My thoughts exactly."  She absent-mindedly ran her left hand through her hair.  "The thing that bothers me the most is that this happened since I made contact with Burke.  I should have noticed something, should have been able to stop this from happening."

"Don't beat yourself up, Grace.  You're doing a great job."  He patted her arm.  "Besides, how do we know that Sark is telling the truth?"

"How do we know he's not?" she countered.

He sighed.

"There was something else Sark said," Madison remembered.  "Besides the fact that the weapon is already being used."

Weiss stared at her.

"He all but said we have a mole."

He sat up straight.  "What were his exact words?"

She closed her eyes, concentrating.  "Something about how I was going to say that I believed everyone in the CIA was loyal, but that I would know differently soon enough."

He swore under his breath.  "The bastard is threatening us from our own jail cell."

"But could he be right?" she questioned.  "Could there be a mole in this operation?"

"You trust Ashley and Isabel, right?"

"With my life," she assured him.

"I know we don't know each other very well, and this is gonna sound lame, but I swear to you, I'm not—"

"I wasn't accusing you," she interrupted.  She paused.  "Besides, Jack trusts you.  That's the highest kind of recommendation you can get."  She flashed him a weak smile.

"We're going to have to look at every agent who has ever been involved with this, aren't we."

"'Fraid so, Eric."  She glanced at her watch.  "Uh-oh.  I've got to get out of here.  Burke is expecting me home soon."

"We can talk on the way; I'm your designated driv—" Weiss was interrupted by the ringing phone.  "Weiss.  Mr. Devlin!  Yes, sir.  Right here, sir.  What?  Now?  Yes, sir.  We're on our way."  He replaced the receiver and looked at her.

"What?"

"Change of plans.  Devlin needs to see you at headquarters asap."

"Are you sure he said headquarters?  I've never even been in the LA office; it's considered too dangerous."

"For whatever reason, right now he's willing to make an exception."  He pulled his keys out of his pocket.  "Come on, let's go."

*********

"Hello, Kaye," Madison said, reading the nameplate on the secretary's desk.  "I'm here to see Mr. Devlin."

Kaye looked up from her computer.  "Agent Thompson?"  Madison nodded.  "Hang on," she said, picking up her phone.  "She's here," Kaye said into the receiver.  "All right.  I'll tell her."  She hung up the phone.  "Mr. Devlin will be here in a few minutes.  You can have a seat while you wait."

"Thanks," Madison replied as she eased herself into one of the empty chairs.  She glanced at her watch.  Five-twenty.  She hoped whatever Devlin had to say wouldn't take too long.  If she was a few minutes late coming home, she could always blame traffic.  But if it was more than that . . . she could see it now.  _"Hey Chris, I was late because I had to meet with my boss about the swallow mission I'm on.  With you."_  She grimaced.  _That_ wouldn't go over well.

"Grace," Devlin greeted her as he entered the reception area.  "I need you to come with me."

She dutifully rose from her seat and followed him back out the door.  "No offense, sir, but I don't have a lot of time to talk with you.  If I don't get home soon, Burke will begin asking questions and—"

Devlin shook his head and laughed.  "Dinner is the least of your worries."  He motioned with his hand.  "There's something you have to see."

Sighing, she continued to follow him down the hallway.  He opened a door and held it for her, allowing her to enter the communications center.  An entire wall was filled with television screens.  They allowed agents to monitor all hallways.  The CIA rotunda.

And interrogation rooms.

Madison turned to face Devlin.  "What is going on?  Why didn't someone tell me?"

"Because it's not what you think, Grace," he replied.  He looked at her meaningfully and pointed to the screen.  "We didn't apprehend Burke."

Her brain processed this information quickly.  If he had not been apprehended, why would a known terrorist be in a CIA interrogation room?  She drew in a breath.  "You mean that . . ."  She couldn't finish her sentence.

Devlin nodded.  "We had a walk in."

_tbc___


	17. Reflection

**_Seventeen—Reflection_**

"He just walked through the front door and turned himself in," Madison said skeptically.

"No," Devlin replied.  He looked at her squarely.  "He turned Pyper-Ferguson in."

"Same difference."  She paused.  "Right?"

"Not necessarily.  We've spent the last hour reviewing his statement.  It looks like he's telling the truth.  He's an innocent."

"An innocent," Madison echoed, her stomach lurching.  "As in, maybe this mission should have never happened?"

He stared at her, the regret obvious in his eyes.  "It would appear that way."

"I need a chair," she muttered.  "I don't think I can take much more of this."

"Come with me."  He placed a hand on her elbow and led her out of the communications center and down the hall.  She took one step inside the room and froze.

"You—you want me to _watch_?" she hissed.

"He can't see you, Grace," Devlin reasoned.  "On his side it's just a mirror.  You know that."

"Of course I know that," she snapped.  "But—but—you're sure you want me here?"

"Who better to tell if he's lying than you?"  Madison rolled her eyes.  "Come on, Grace, we've been waiting on you."

She hesitantly walked in and sat down.  Through the looking glass she could see Christopher—Burke—seated at a long table, a glass of water in front of him.  He was glancing at his watch and looking anxiously around the room.

"Gracie!" Isabel exclaimed as she and Ashley entered the room.  Madison stood up to greet them, opening her arms to hug them both.

"What is going on here?" Madison murmured.

"That's what we're all trying to figure out," Ashley whispered.  "We'll get this all straightened out, we promise."

The three women released each other.  "We need to wire Iz," Ashley said.  "We're going to have you and her on a comm link.  That way we can communicate with each other during the interrogation."

"Let me get this straight.  You two get to interview 'the cretin?'"  Madison laughed humorlessly.  "This gets stranger by the second."

"No kidding," Isabel agreed.  "Why do you think _I'm_ the one wearing the comm link?  Just think of what Ash would do to the guy."

"Ladies, we need to begin," Devlin reminded them.  The three friends quickly sprang into action.

"Testing, one, two, three," Madison said into the microphone.

Isabel winced.  "It works.  Where's the volume button on this thing?"  Ashley made some adjustments and they tried it again.  "Much better."  She squeezed Madison's hand.  "Everything will be okay," she promised.  The two agents scurried out the door, reappearing moments later in the other room.

Three more agents filed into the interrogation room, obviously making Burke feel as if he was in front of a firing squad.

Everyone took their places at the table, pens poised and recording equipment ready to go.  "Please state your name for the record," one of the agents instructed Burke.

"Who's that?" Madison asked Devlin.

He looked at her strangely.  "Bentley.  Haven't you met him before?"

She shook her head.  "So this is the guy who started it all," she muttered to herself.  "Bastard."

On the other side of the glass Isabel coughed.  "Oops.  Sorry, Iz," Madison apologized.  She remained silent while Burke rattled off the story of his life—a story she knew almost as well as he did.

"My mother died when I was sixteen . . ."

"After graduation I went to MIT . . ."

"Top of my class . . ."

"My senior year at MIT I was recruited by Pyper-Ferguson Industries, a pharmaceutical company . . ."

"Last fall Pyper-Ferguson bought out Kelley Industries.  I was assigned to head up the transition team . . ."

" . . . and that is when I began to suspect my employer."  Burke paused.

"Is something wrong?" Ashley asked harshly.

Madison drew in a breath on the other side of the glass.  "Come on, Burke, it was starting to get good.  Why did you stop _now_?"

Burke glanced at his watch.  "No, not really.  It's just getting late, and I don't want to worry my wife.  Is there any way I could call her?"

Ashley muffled a noise from the back of her throat; from the way she jerked, Madison was certain she had been kicked under the table.  "Your wife," Ashley said slowly.  "Why don't we talk about her."

"Izzy, make her behave," Madison warned into the comm link.  She knew Isabel couldn't answer her, but after so many years of friendship she could sense her response.  _Believe me, I'm trying._

Burke stared at Ashley.  "My wife is not a part of this; it's unnecessary for her to be included in this report.  I just want her to know that I'm not going to be home for awhile."

"Worrying about the little wife.  How positively sweet of you," Ashley said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.  She reluctantly stood and walked over to a phone hanging on the wall.  "What's her number?"

Burke recited her number, and Ashley promptly dialed.  Madison still jerked when her cell phone began to ring.

She grimaced at Devlin.  "Show time," she said grimly.  She picked up her phone and answered it.  "Hello?"

"May I speak to Mrs. Burke, please?" Ashley said sweetly into her ear.

"Ash, you've got to stop acting like a twelve-year-old.  For the love of God—"

"This is Ashley from Pyper-Ferguson.  I'm one of the new secretaries," she gushed.  "Your husband asked me to call you and tell you he's been pulled into a meeting with the higher-ups."

"Stop making this interrogation personal, okay?  Just do your job and see for yourself if he's innocent or guilty."

"He said for you to not wait up for him; he doesn't know what time he'll be home.  Is there anything you'd like me to pass on to him?"

"Behave yourself, Ashley.  I'm serious.  And I know Isabel agrees with me," Madison said.  She could see Isabel nodding slightly in the interrogation room as she brushed her hair over the earpiece.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't catch that.  What did you say?"

She paused, staring past Devlin at Burke's profile.  "Tell him that Madison sends her love and to hurry home soon."  She clicked her phone off and watched as Ashley hung up her phone.  She listened as Ashley relayed the message and noticed that Burke smiled imperceptibly.

Madison sat back in her chair as Burke began his longwinded explanation.  Names of superiors, colleagues, friends whom he suspected.  The hierarchy within Pyper-Ferguson Industries and how the acquisition of Kelley Laboratories impacted that.  The work that Pyper-Ferguson had performed in the last several years, the work that Burke had developed, overseen, approved.

Two hours later the agents interrupted him.  "We will resume in ten minutes," Isabel told Burke.  "Is there anything you need?  Water, perhaps?"

Burke nodded gratefully.

"We'll have someone send it in," she said with a smile.  She stood up and glanced at her watch.  "Ten minutes," she reminded the other agents.  All five stood and exited the room.

Madison and Devlin both stood up.  Devlin walked over to the door and opened it, admitting Ashley, Isabel, and Agent Bentley.

"So what do you think?" Devlin asked them.  The three agents remained silent.

"I think he's innocent," Isabel said when no one else spoke.  "His oral statement so far confirms everything that he wrote earlier; there are no contradictions.  It appears he discovered recently what his employers were doing, but while he didn't report them immediately, I can understand why he hesitated.  He wanted to make sure he had proof, which he has now in abundance."  She cleared her throat.  "I think it was a bold move for him to be collecting information on them, right under their noses, in order to turn them in."

Devlin nodded.  "Bentley?"

Agent Bentley frowned.  "He sounds like he's innocent," he finally said.  "But it doesn't make sense.  How could our intel have been so faulty?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Ashley countered with a shake of her head.

"What about you, Ash?  What do you think?" Madison asked.

She wrinkled her nose.  "Isabel has a point," she conceded.  "Everything has matched up so far.  But I'm not convinced he is who he says he is.  Not to mention," she added, "that he still hasn't revealed what the weapons are."

"So ask him that as soon as you resume the interrogation," Devlin replied.  He turned slightly.  "Okay, Grace.  You've been watching the whole time.  Not only that, but you know this man better than any of us.  Is Christopher Burke lying or telling the truth?"

Madison swallowed.  "He's telling the truth," she said softly.  "All of it.  He's not lying.  I—I can tell."

"Time's up," Ashley said.  She tapped a finger against her watch.  "Let's go."

The agents reassembled in the interrogation room.  Ashley began the questioning this time.

"In your statement, you indicated that it is your belief that a biological weapon has not only been produced by Kelley Laboratories, but also sold to terrorists?"

Burke shook his head.  "It wasn't sold, exactly."

Bentley's eyes narrowed.  "Explain yourself."

"When Kelley Laboratories became a part of Pyper-Ferguson, one of the first things they did was examine the prescription drugs manufactured by Pyper-Ferguson.  Kelley wanted to improve upon one of Pyper-Ferguson's most popular meds, or so they said."

Madison leaned forward in her seat.  "And if what Sark said is true," she muttered, "someone in the FDA was bought off and it's already out there."

"I believe that they took one med in particular and altered it, including a low-level toxin in it that, when taken on a regular basis, would slowly kill off a substantial part of the population," Burke continued.

"Something taken on a regular basis."  Madison thought out loud.  "Ibuprofen?  No, that's not something you take regularly.  Sinus medication?  Maybe . . . an allergy med?"  Devlin shrugged.

"I was initially tipped off when I heard that Kelley was reexamining the composition of this med because it's already top-of-the-line.  I worked on the original project myself."

"Something Burke worked on."  She mentally reviewed his file as he continued to speak.

"What's that?" Devlin asked her.

"What?"

"That beeping noise," he said.

Madison glanced around.  "Oh!  It's the alarm on my cell phone."  She quickly pulled her phone out of her purse and turned the alarm off.  "I set the alarm for nine o'clock every night—"  She gulped.  "Oh God."

She recalled what the doctor told her in the medical services unit that afternoon a few months earlier.  _"When you go over to the pharmacy, make sure that they give you exactly what's written here, not the newest one on the market.  It received FDA approval last month.  It's not really any different from what you're taking, just enough so that when your med can be made as a generic, Pyper-Ferguson can still make even more revenue."_

Her eyes widened as she pulled her medicine out of her purse.  She stared at the Pyper-Ferguson labeling as she and Burke said at the same time, "It's the new birth control pill."

*********

"We are still authenticating your statement," Isabel told Burke two hours later.  "But it appears that you have valid intel that can enable the United States government to stop terrorist activity."

Burke appeared visibly relieved.  "So what now?"

"When you leave here you will be under constant surveillance," Isabel began.  "Both for your protection and ours.  Agents will follow you, guard your home, make sure you stay safe tomorrow at work."

"I have to go back to work tomorrow?" he asked incredulously.

"We know it sounds unreasonable," Ashley said in a far kinder voice than before.  "But there are certain key pieces of intel that only you will be able to give us.  Our agents can not simply infiltrate the facility; from our reports and yours, there is a failsafe in place that would destroy everything.  We need you on the inside."

"For how long?"

Ashley shrugged.  "We have no way of knowing.  It could be weeks, it could be months."

Madison laughed sadly from her vantage point.  "Funny.  That's what they told me too."

"I don't know."  Burke hesitated.  "I don't want to put my wife in any danger."

"She will be under constant surveillance as well," Isabel assured him.  "You have our guarantee that nothing will happen to either one of you."

"Can I get that in writing?" Madison muttered.  Devlin glared at her.

"I—I don't have to keep this from her, do I?" he asked nervously.

The agents exchanged a glance.  "That is up to you to decide," Ashley said finally.  "But she is the only person you must even think of telling.  Your life is at stake here."

"I can tell my wife; Maddie is the most trustworthy person I've ever met," he said resolutely.  Isabel and Ashley both winced slightly.  On the other side of the glass, Madison groaned.

Ashley nodded.  "An agent will escort you out of the building and to your home," she told Burke.  "We'll be in touch."  With that, she and the other agents exited the room.

Devlin continued to watch the sole occupant of the interrogation room as he spoke.  "We need to get you home before Burke arrives."  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Madison nod in agreement.  "This certainly changes our operation, Grace.  I'll contact you in the next few days about an altered mission.  Don't worry; we'll get you out of this safe and sound.  And soon."  He gently touched her shoulder, then stood and left her alone.

_tbc_


	18. Repent

**_Eighteen—Repent_**

Madison stood and wrapped her arms around herself as she tried to fight the chill running through her body.  She tilted her head forward, her gaze resting on one person.  One man.

Her husband.

In less than twelve hours her plans, her preconceived notions for this op, had all been turned around.  The innocent were guilty, while the guilty were unbelievably innocent.  And where did she stand in all of this?

_What am I going to do?_

The closed door cautiously opened, and Weiss, Ashley, and Isabel appeared.  "We have to get you out of here before we can release Burke," Weiss informed her.

She jerked her head in surprise.  "You've been here all this time?"

Weiss nodded.  "I was monitoring the video feeds."  He shrugged.  "Now, Grace."

She ran her fingers through her hair and nodded.  "I guess I'll see you sometime soon," she told her friends.  A small smile crept on her face.  "Have fun working all night."

Ashley rolled her eyes.  "Oh, that was just low," she muttered.

"Would you rather go home with Burke?"  Isabel snickered.

Ashley reconsidered.  "On second thought, I can't wait to pull an all-nighter," she said enthusiastically.  Isabel rolled her eyes, and Weiss checked his watch.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Madison said quickly.  She hugged each of her friends hurriedly and then followed him out the door.  At this hour she knew it would only take about fifteen minutes to get home.  Burke would probably be home about thirty minutes after that.

And then the fun would really begin.

*********

An hour later Weiss re-entered the conference room and angrily threw his keys onto the table.  "What the hell were you thinking?" he yelled at the man who entered the room behind him.

Bentley glowered.  "I was doing my job, nothing more," he said smoothly.

"Would someone like to explain why you two are yelling at twelve-thirty in the morning?" Devlin snapped.  He gestured at the panel of agents sitting at the table, sorting through intel.  "We have better things to do than sit around and listen to you two whine."

"Oh, you'll want to hear this," Weiss assured him, obviously angry.  He turned to Bentley.  "Who's going to tell them?  You or me?"  After a few moments of silence, he continued.  "So we're driving Burke home, and it's absolute silence, you know?  Well, we're just a few minutes away from his place when all of a sudden Burke asks if Pyper-Ferguson had already been under investigation, based on the questions we asked."

"Uh-oh," Isabel muttered worriedly.

"Exactly!" Weiss agreed.  "That was my reaction too.  But what does Bentley over here say?"  All eyes swiveled to the end of the table.

"You _didn't_ tell Burke, did you?" Ashley asked, enraged.  She walked over to where Bentley was sitting.  _"Did you?"_

*********

"You're finally home!" Madison exclaimed as Christopher locked the door behind him.  She rushed to greet him.

"Hey, Maddie," he said wearily, pulling her into his arms.

"You're so tense," she murmured.  "Rough day?"  She inwardly berated herself.  _And the Academy Award for Best Actress during a swallow op goes to . . ._

"You have no idea."  He finally released her and looked into her eyes.  "Madison, we need to talk."

She frowned.  "Well, it can't be good news if you stopped calling me Maddie," she pretended to worry.  She sat down on the couch and faced him.  "What is it?"

*********

"I didn't tell Burke," Bentley retorted to his audience.  Several agents were visibly relieved at his statement.  "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?  What do you mean, not exactly?" Isabel asked coldly.

"I told him that the CIA had credible intel that there was suspicious activity at Pyper-Ferguson, and a team was investigating."

"In the future, Bentley, keep your mouth closed," Devlin warned him.  "You should know better than to even reveal that much to Burke.  His statement hasn't been authenticated yet."

"That's not all Bigmouth over here said," Weiss interrupted.  "He said, and I quote, _'Our team, led by the efficient Agent Thompson, has been making great strides in uncovering the first of what is presumed to be many biological weapons.'_"

*********

"I wasn't working late tonight.  At least, not at the lab."  Christopher stared down at his hands.

"If you weren't at the lab, then where _were_ you?" she asked suspiciously.  "And why did some secretary call me to tell me you were going to be home late?"

He was certain he could see the wheels turning in her head.  "Oh, it's nothing like that," he quickly assured her.  "I swear to you, I have in no way cheated on you.  I couldn't if my life depended on it."

_Score one for Burke._  "What's going on?" she asked, frustrated.  "You can trust me!"  _And the score is now tied, one to one._

"You know how I've told you I've worked at the same place since I graduated, right?"  She nodded wordlessly.  "And remember how a few weeks ago I said I was sick of this merger and just wanted to quit?  Well, there's more to the story than that.  A lot more."

She tucked her legs underneath her.  "I'm listening."

*********

"_'Led__ by the efficient Agent Thompson?'_" Ashley repeated.  Isabel's mouth hung open.

"I'm going to _kill_ him," she muttered, and Ashley nodded in agreement.

Weiss nodded grimly.  "I'll hold him down for you," he offered.  "Although as fast as Devlin hauled his ass out of here, we might not get a chance."

Isabel smiled darkly.  "Don't worry.  I've been researching number six on our most wanted list lately.  Just give me a knife; I could take care of him in no time."

*********

"You turned yourself in to the CIA," Madison said slowly.  She buried her face in her hands for a moment.  "My poor brain can't grasp all of this at once," she said truthfully as she looked up at him.

"It's a lot to take in," he agreed.  "I'm so sorry you've been pulled into this too, Maddie."

She shrugged.  "I haven't been 'pulled into' it," she said dismissively.  "It's just . . . a lot to process."

"But don't you see?  If Pyper-Ferguson realizes I turned them in to the CIA, you could become a target.  I don't know why that never crossed my mind before," Christopher worried.  "I'm so, so sorry about this.  If I had known it was going to turn out this way, if I had known my job could endanger you somehow, I would have never pushed our relationship so quickly."

Madison blinked.  "You _what_?"

Christopher looked away.  "I didn't mean for it to sound like that," he said quickly.  "It's just—we went from meeting each other to married in a matter of months.  And I don't think you're usually that spontaneous, and I know I'm not.  But on the one hand, I had all of this work looming over my head and all of these problems and headaches and things consuming me.  And on the other hand was this wonderful woman I happened to meet while trying to find a birthday present for my niece."  He turned his head and looked at her.  "It was a lot easier to focus on the wonderful woman than my job.  And this is not to say that I wasn't attracted to you, that I didn't grow to love you incredibly fast.  But I think I pursued you a bit more than I might have if I hadn't been trying to push my job away from the forefront of my mind."

"Oh," she gulped.

"Maddie, don't look at me like—"

"So our marriage, our relationship, everything since I _met_ you, has been based on the fact that you hated your job?" she burst out impulsively.  Then sank back into the cushions as reality crashed to the surface and she remembered who she really was.

"I _knew_ you would take this the wrong way," he said under his breath.  He tentatively pulled her hand into his, absently stroking her ring finger.

"If—if we had met at a different time in our lives, under different circumstances even, I know we would have still found each other," Christopher said softly.  "But in another universe, we might have dated for a year or two, maybe had a six or seven month engagement while we planned a big wedding.  The end result would be the same.  It's just the journey would be different."  He broke out of his reverie.  "Maddie?  Why are you crying?"

*********

Devlin took a sip of his cold coffee and looked around the room.  He glanced at his watch.  "It's almost four," he pointed out.  "Let's break for now and meet again at ten."  The agents in the room wearily nodded and began gathering up intel.

"Grace is getting pulled soon, right?" Isabel hesitantly asked as she and Ashley left the room.

Ashley shrugged grimly.  "It sounds like they want to keep Burke at Pyper-Ferguson, and it would be too suspicious to pull her now.  She could still be in for years."

"It's a far cry from being the biochem major who was the best at everything at the Farm," Isabel said sadly.

"Yeah.  I guess all she really needed was a few acting classes."

*********

Madison rubbed her eyes and sat up straight in her kitchen chair.  "Why does the CIA want you to go to work tomorrow?  It sounds too dangerous to me."

"Later today," Christopher gently corrected her, glancing at the clock next to the sink.  "It's already a quarter to five."

Madison groaned.  "At this rate, we might as well stay up all night and go to work early," she muttered.

"You could probably stay home if you wanted to," he comforted her.

She shook her head.  "I think I would feel safer around a group of people than be here by myself."  _And besides, what if Fiona wasn't the only plant at my job?_

He silently nodded.

"If we're going to stay up, we could go ahead and eat breakfast," Madison said, jumping up from her seat.  She peered inside the refrigerator.  "Let's see, we have . . . when was the last time we went grocery shopping?"  She wrinkled her nose and turned to him.  "I could make toast," she said finally, pointing to the unused toaster that sat on the counter.  "And that's about it.  No juice, no milk," she rummaged through the cabinets, "and oh my God, no coffee."

"We have bread and water," Christopher laughed.  "We're pathetic."

A giggle erupted from her lips before she could stop it.  "Only the two of us could get into the mess we're in," she agreed, looking into his eyes.

He abruptly stopped laughing.  "For what it's worth, Maddie, I am sorry we're both in this mess.  I promise you, I won't let anything happen to you."

She let him pull her into his lap.  "I know, Chris.  I know," she sighed.  "It's just—this changes everything, doesn't it?  You.  Me.  Us."

"It doesn't have to."  He cupped her cheek with his hand.

"But it will.  It will," she said grimly.  Then pushed that thought out of her mind.  "You know, I'm not very hungry for toast.  We should go to bed."  She stood up and held out her hand to him.

"Yeah, we should."

*********

Devlin walked into his office and nodded in greeting to his assistant.

"You're here awfully late this morning," Kaye commented.  "It's almost nine-thirty."

"I'm expecting Agent Bentley in a few minutes, and then I have a meeting at ten.  Please hold my calls."  He closed his door behind him and immediately began to work.

Thirty minutes later, he was still waiting.

*********

"Where's Devlin?" Weiss growled.  He pulled a yo-yo out of his pocket.  "It's pretty bad when the boss is late to his own meeting."

Isabel gulped down more coffee.  "He's only a minute late.  Relax, Eric."  She sifted through a stack of papers.  "Do you think she's ever going to be free of this man?  Grace and Burke?"

"I—"  Weiss was interrupted when Devlin entered the room.

"Bentley didn't show up this morning," he said in a distressed voice.  "And he's not answering his phone."

Ashley shrugged.  "So he overslept.  Happens to the best of us," she interjected.

"I hope that's all.  Nevertheless, I've got two agents on their way to his home.  Just to be safe."  He looked around the room.  "All right, so let's pick up where we left off earlier this morning . . ."

*********

"I'm going to take an early lunch," Madison told the new receptionist as she prepared to leave the building.

"It's not even eleven o'clock," she pointed out.

Madison shrugged.  "I need to run a few errands before the lunch rush begins," she said noncommittally.  "Don't worry.  I'll be back in an hour."

The receptionist waved her off as she pushed the glass door open and began walking down the street.  There were no errands; she just had to get out of that place, get away from everyone and everything and just be by herself for a few minutes.  So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours, and her brain had not processed any of it.

She pulled her cell phone out of her purse to check the time, and then began to aimlessly wander the surrounding streets.

She never noticed that she gripped her phone so tightly she turned it off.

*********

Kaye rushed into the conference room.  "Mr. Devlin, one of the agents you sent to locate Bentley is on the phone.  It sounds urgent."

He hurried out of the room, only to return minutes later, an unreadable expression on his face.  "Isabel, make the call.  We're pulling Grace."

The agents at the table looked at each other momentarily, surprised.  "Yes, sir," Isabel said quickly, pulling out her phone.

"But why now?" Ashley wanted to know.  "After everything you said last night—"

"Bentley's dead," Devlin interrupted brusquely.  "It appears he hung himself."

Weiss whistled.  "Did anyone else not see that one coming?" he asked the crowd.

"You said it _appears_ he hung himself," Ashley pointed out.  "Do the agents think it was staged?"

Devlin nodded.  "And from what they found in his bedroom . . . he wasn't just CIA."  He turned to Isabel.  "Make the call."

She quickly dialed a series of numbers, then cursed under her breath.  "Her cell went straight to voice mail."

"We'll have to risk the work number then," Ashley said.  "I'll call this one."  She picked up her cell phone and dialed.  "Hi, I was calling about one of your artists who is playing at the Shrine—what?  Oh.  I'm sorry."  She hung up the phone.  "Someone else answered her line."

"I'll contact the surveillance team," Weiss volunteered.  He quickly left the room.

"We need to find her soon," Devlin said, as if to himself.  "A preliminary investigation of Bentley's home indicates he worked with Mr. Sark.  In a project that was orchestrated by Irina Derevko."

*********

Madison's stomach rumbled as she walked through the front door.

"Two days in a row?  I'm flattered," Dorothy teased her as she led her to a table.  "Still want the usual?"

Madison nodded gratefully and sank into the booth.

It was good to know that some things didn't change in her crazy new existence.

*********

"My turn," Isabel said, retrieving her phone.  She quickly dialed.  "Hi, I was calling about a children's book you special ordered . . . what?  I'm sorry.  I must have dialed the wrong number."  She clicked off the phone and sighed.  "Still not her answering."

"And her cell phone still goes straight to voice mail?" Devlin asked.  They both nodded.

"Surveillance team found her," Weiss burst in the room.  "And get this.  She's—"

"You can tell me on the way," Devlin interrupted.  "Let's go."

*********

"Lunch was wonderful as always," Madison reassured Dorothy as she picked up the empty plate.

"Now what about dessert?"  Dorothy's eyes twinkled.

"No, I really need to go," she said reluctantly.  "I've probably been gone too long as it is."

"Come on, you've never tried my double chocolate cake," Dorothy wheedled.

Madison sighed.  "I didn't want to go back to work anyway," she smiled to herself.

"Wonderful!  I'll be right back with a piece."  When she returned a few minutes later though, her hands were empty.  "They're heating up the chocolate sauce to go on top of the cake.  But in the meantime, why don't I show you around?  You've been a faithful customer for months now, and I've never given you the grand tour."

"Why not?" she shrugged.

"Great!"  She pulled Madison up by the arm.  "Don't forget your purse—we are in L.A., after all."  She ushered Madison through the swinging doors into the kitchen.  "And this is the most interesting aspect of the business," she said glibly as she opened what Madison presumed to be an office.

She allowed Dorothy to lead her into the room and close the door behind them before she noticed they were not alone.  Seated in two battered chairs were Devlin and Weiss.

"What the—" Madison stopped, confused.  She turned to Dorothy.  "You know them?"

Dorothy nodded.  "Ben's an old friend of mine, Grace."

She stared at her, open-mouthed.  "_Grace?_" she finally squeaked out.  She fought the urge to scream, or demand too many explanations, or burst into tears.

"I presume this is important if the two of you are here to meet with me," she said to the two men in a calm voice.

Devlin nodded approvingly at her composure.  "We have acquired new intel since last night that you must be made aware of."

"Oh?"

Weiss looked at her regretfully.  "Christopher and Madison Burke are going to be killed tonight."

_tbc_


	19. Scenarios

_This is one of the parts that I have had virtually in its finished form on my hard drive for almost a year.  At last, it is time for it to see the light of day . . ._

**_Nineteen—Scenarios_**

"What?" she asked, aghast.

"Christopher and Madison Burke are going to be killed tonight," Weiss repeated.

Devlin handed her an envelope.  "There's a hit out on both of you."

Cautiously, she opened the envelope.  Photographs and papers spilled out.  She recognized herself—Madison—and Christopher in the photographs as they went about their daily lives.  Eating lunch at a café, standing outside and talking to their neighbors, driving off in their car to run an errand.  Sleeping in their bed.

Ice ran through her veins.  "Has he been pulled yet?" she questioned in an even tone.

"Surveillance shows he's been inside Pyper-Ferguson all day.  As soon as he leaves for lunch, we'll nab him."

"That's not good enough.  He needs to be pulled now!" she argued.

"We can't risk calling him inside Pyp—" Weiss began before Devlin interrupted him.

"We know what we're doing, Grace," Devlin told her forcefully.

"Oh, you mean like when you set me up with the _wrong man_?" she said bitterly.

He ignored her comment.  "Besides, what should it matter to you?  You finally got what you wanted.  The op is over."

"Is it?" she challenged.  "I can't go back to being Grace either, can I?  So what will it be?  Witness protection for both of us?"  She looked around the room frantically, hoping to see heads shaking "no."  She didn't like what she saw.

"Unfortunately, Christopher and Madison Burke will die in a car accident tonight," Devlin said solemnly.  "A drunk driver who somehow missed the random police check points will run into them, causing their car to run off the road and into an embankment, instantly catching on fire.  They will die instantly."

He said it so matter-of-factly, as if he faked deaths every day.  _Who knows?  Maybe he does._

Madison remained silent, trying to absorb this information.

"Our officers are creating new papers for both of you," Weiss finally said.  "The packages will be ready in the next few hours."

She looked at him, horrified.  Never in her worst nightmares had it ended like _this_.  Usually it ended with her telling Burke the truth, that their first meeting had been a lie, that she wasn't Madison Greene, lowly record label employee, but really Grace Thompson, CIA operative.  Usually it ended with her waking drenched in a cold sweat, quietly slipping out of bed to use the hair dryer on a low setting out in the kitchen to dry her nightgown off.  Until last night, she had never imagined her nightmares wouldn't be the worst case scenario.  Because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, this new reality she was living in eclipsed her worst fears.

The quiet room was disturbed when Devlin's cell phone rang loudly.  She ignored his conversation while she tried to absorb this latest information.  A few minutes later he clicked his phone off and sighed.  "Thompson?"

"Yes?" she said eagerly.  The fact that he had called her by name thrilled her; it might be the last time she could answer to it.

"Is there something wrong with your cell phone?"

She stared at him, puzzled.  "It was working fine this morning—oh."  She retrieved it from her purse.  "I must have turned it off."

Weiss sighed.  "We went crazy trying to find you, and all this time your phone was turned off.  Nice, Grace."  She rolled her eyes as she set the phone on a nearby desk.

"Surveillance suspects that Burke won't be leaving the facility for lunch, so we need you to get him out of there.  Now.  Tell him you want to meet for lunch, right here, right now."

She protested.  "You don't mean to tell me _I_ have to pull him in, do you?"

"Think of it as your final duty as a loving wife," Weiss cracked.  He picked up her phone and handed it to her. 

With shaking hands she dialed the number she had memorized before he had even given it to her.  Back then it just was another piece of information from his file that had to be learned.  Seven months later, it was different.

"Hey, Maddie," he answered.

"Chris," she breathed in.  Noticing how she was being watched, she quickly stood and walked a few steps away, turning her back to her audience.

Instantly he was aware something was wrong.  "Sweetie, what is it?  Are you okay?  Did something happen?"

"Chris, I need you to do something for me.  You have to promise you will do exactly as I say and that you will tell no one where you are going.  No one.  Not your colleagues or a random person on the elevator or a little old lady you see crossing the street.  No one.  Okay?"

"Did someone threaten you?" he asked in a low voice.  She remained silent.  "Madison?  Hello?  Madison, you're worrying me."  She belatedly realized she had used her "agent voice" on him, not the voice he was accustomed to hearing.  No wonder he was worried.

She took a deep breath and tried to smile; she knew he would be able to hear it in her voice.  "Just promise me."

"Fine, I promise," he replied hurriedly.  "Now what am I supposed to do?"

"You know that sub shop I love?  The one near the office?  I need you to meet me there now.  Immediately.  As in, get in your car right this instant and—"

"I got you," he laughed.  She could sense his relief, even over the phone.  "Really, Madison.  You're all worked up because you need to see me in a restaurant?"

"What did I tell you about not telling anyone?" she practically yelled into the phone.  "Somebody could be listening to you!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" he said in a low voice.  "You keep going back and forth.  Are you safe or are you in danger?  Did they get to you?"

"Chris, you've got to trust me.  I need you to leave Pyper-Ferguson.  Now."

"I'm on my way," he said.  "I'm walking down the hallway, and now I'm heading out the door, and now I'm walking to my car—oh, wait."

"What do you mean, wait?"

"I just realized I left my briefcase—"

"I do not give a damn about your briefcase," she interrupted harshly.

"But it's got—"

"I don't care what's inside it.  If you are not in your car in the next thirty seconds, I will personally kill you," she threatened.

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going," he panted.  "I'm jogging to my car.  Does that make you happy?"

"Maybe."

Forty torturous seconds later she heard a familiar dinging noise.  "Okay, Madison, I'm in the car.  I should be there in about ten minutes."

"Please hurry," she whispered.  "And be careful."

"I will, honey.  I just don't understand what you're all worked up about."  He heard silence on the other end.  "Maddie?  Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," she said in a low voice.

"Whew.  You had me worried again," he laughed.  "I guess I'm just overacting, right?  Okay, I'll see you in a few.  I love you, oh graceful one."

She closed her eyes, remembering when he had first used that name.  "I love you too," she whispered, then quickly hung up the phone.

"He's on his way," she said calmly as she turned back around.  She was fairly certain they had heard every word of her exchange with him, but at this point, she didn't really care.  What did she have to lose at this point that they weren't already taking away?

"Good," Devlin nodded.  He gestured with his hand.  "I'll be in the next room if you need me," he said before turning and walking away.

Dorothy and Weiss stared at her from their seats.  "So this is it," Dorothy began.

She nodded dully as she collapsed into her chair.

"Not like you expected, is it."

"I never thought I would have to go into witness protection," she mumbled.  "I thought I'd retire from the Agency someday."

"You'll get a star in your honor, of course, but your name won't go on it.  And maybe someday you'll get used to your new life, maybe even enjoy it a bit," Dorothy continued conversationally.  "You never know.  The CIA might cross your path again someday."

Madison blinked as she looked up.  "You were CIA," she realized.  "That's why this was deemed a safe place for me to go, even before the op officially began."

"I was pulled about twenty years ago.  It seems like a lifetime ago now," she reminisced.

"Are you glad you did it?"

"At first, I wasn't.  I would have rather died at the hands of the KGB.  But now?  I may not have the life I used to dream of having, but this is a pretty good alternative."  Dorothy reached over and squeezed her hand.  "You just have to find the best in every situation."

Again a cell phone interrupted the conversation.  This time Weiss whipped out a phone and answered it.  "How much longer?  Good.  We'll need them hand delivered to—what?  Oh."  He stared at Madison for a second, a question in his eyes.  _What?_ she mouthed to him.  He shook his head.  "Let me call you back."  He placed the phone on the table beside him.

"Burke's packet is ready to go," he told her.  She sighed with relief.  "They've set up most of your packet too, but they haven't begun to print the documents yet."

"Why not?"

"They . . ." He shook his head.  "This is crazy," he muttered to himself.  "Even in our world, this is crazy."

"What's crazy?" she pressed.

"They haven't started printing your documents yet because they wanted to know if they needed to print something extra."

"Like what?" Dorothy asked for her, a glint in her eye.

Weiss stared Madison squarely in the eyes.  "A marriage certificate."

"You mean—"

"I mean, if you want to ever see Burke again, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Madison sat back, stunned.  Had he just offered her what she thought he had?  It was a stunning proposal, mind-boggling . . .

And impossible.  Chris would be ready to murder her once he knew the truth.  _"Hi, honey, we met because the __U.S.__ government set us up even though they made a mistake and now we're on the run for the rest of our lives.  Okay?"_  She didn't want to think about the look on his face when he learned that he had been duped.  She remembered all too well how she had felt the night before when she thought _he_ had duped _her_, that he didn't really want to marry her.  _Madison__._  She couldn't imagine what would happen if she had to explain her insane story to him.

She swallowed.  No, they had to go their separate ways.  Make a clean break.

But on the other hand . . . surely he could forgive her.  Eventually.  She was once again reminded of what had transpired overnight—not only had Madison forgiven Chris, but she was willing to stay with him during this difficult time.  Even if their marriage had been rushed.  And it wasn't as if he had been duped for, say, ten years.  And hadn't he said that even if they met under different circumstances . . . ?

Maybe . . . but no.  She had to be realistic.  It would never work.

She closed her eyes and tried to fight back the tears she knew were coming.  She would _kill_ to have Derevko in the room with her right now, to get her perspective on this.  _Think, Mad—Grace, think.  If Irina had had this choice, what do you think she would have done?_  The answer was obvious; or at least, she hoped it was.  But did that really help her?

"Grace.  Grace," Weiss prodded.  She blinked and jerked her head towards him.

"Yes?"

He held his phone in his hand.  "I need to call them back with an answer.  What will it be?"

Madison closed her eyes, a million images flitting through her mind.  _I guess your life can flash before your eyes, even if you're just faking your death._  Gradually the maelstrom slowed until she was certain.

"Grace?"

She opened her eyes.  "I've made my decision."

_tbc_


	20. Revelations

_I began writing this part ten months ago **very** late one night; in fact, it was so late that when I reread it later I didn't even remember parts of it!  It was also when I reread it that I realized how twisted this story could become . . . so at long last, the part that I've been holding on to for forever. ;)_

**_Twenty—Revelations_**

****

She curled up on the window seat, carefully tucking her legs under her.  She watched as the storm continued violently outside, the waves crashing up on the shore.  She looked over at the man who slept soundly in bed.  _Some things never change,_ she thought fondly to herself.

She allowed her mind to wander back to an earlier time, a time she hadn't allowed herself to dwell on in the busyness of the last year.  But on this night, the memories wouldn't recede, the questions wouldn't go away.

And so she remembered.

_"I would never let any of my agents perform this kind of mission."_

_"Why not?"___

_"These missions never end well.  Too many unnecessary people get hurt in the process."_

On her darkest days in the prison in Kashmir, she wondered bleakly if a better agent, a stronger agent, would have done a better job with the mission.  If perhaps an agent who had been better trained could have followed the script for ten years and not allowed her heart to get involved.

As the temperature outside her cell grew colder, so did her heart, effectively buried underneath layers of regrets and what ifs.  In its place her analytical mind sharpened even more as she watched those around her, examining relationships, the balance of power.

On the second anniversary of the day she finally tasted freedom, she proudly examined the profitable syndicate she now ran and vowed that one day she would prove to herself once and for all that she had not failed during her years as an American.

All she needed was the perfect subject.

_"Ms. Derevko, I'm Agent Thompson.  I am here to ask you a few questions about an operation you were a part of many years ago."_

At first she had planned on using Sydney as her test case.  However, the roles would have to be reversed—Sydney was not the manipulator, the double agent in her relationship; that role fell to her boyfriend Noah.  Irina had laughed many times as she watched her old friend Arvin Sloane unwittingly be duped by her organization.  _Fool._  In the end, she decided that it was more important that Noah be out of Sydney's life than stay in it merely for the sake of her examination.  There were always other agents she could study.

_"Who sent you here?"_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"Who.__ Sent. You. Here."_

Irina had watched with a mixture of fascination and amusement as her only child, now with shocking red hair, stole the Mueller device and promptly joined the real CIA.  In the following months, as mother and daughter grew closer and closer to the point of their reunion, Irina began to make plans for an extended leave of absence.

It had taken her some time to convince her senior associates of the merits to the plan.  Their true objections remained unspoken, always slightly beneath the surface, as the day drew near.  _"You're doing this to see the child you had with that damn American."_  Even as a foreign feeling—maternal urges, perhaps?—stirred through her, she kept her mind focused on the game.

Jack was right to suspect her when she turned herself in to the CIA.  Sydney was right to warily open up to her and get to know her as the months passed.  The dichotomy might have driven them all crazy, but it was the only thing they had that was real.

She _did_ have an ulterior motive—two—for submitting herself to a heavily guarded cell in the labyrinth of an American government agency.  But the idea of seeing her daughter face to face, learning about her first-hand rather than through young agents who needed to practice their honed skills, was also very appealing.

It was both a desire to see her daughter and a desire to finally test her theory that culminated in her walk-in.  While she sat in her cell, minus a pillow and a blanket, her daughter slowly began to open up to her.  And in South America, a twenty-eight year old field agent was extracted and placed in Los Angeles with a new identity and new orders to fulfill.

Orders that Irina devised as she watched the lab in Taipei explode, the Mueller device now safely in Sydney's hands.

_"Because once you're in . . . the rest of your life will be altered.  Permanently."_

There was a threat of biological warfare against the United States, Irina had to admit.  Pyper-Ferguson _was_ an organization which needed to be closely monitored.  But Burke was not a nefarious evildoer.  He was just an ordinary man . . . who was about to run headlong into a fiercely independent agent.

_"Hot date tonight?"___

She had known the teasing was unnecessary, but she had been unable to resist.  And the expression that crossed Grace's countenance made the comment all the more worthwhile.

It was selfish on her part, she knew, but she reveled in the opportunity to watch this young woman, so like her daughter in so many ways, slowly fall in love.  She had not been allowed the opportunity to chat with Sydney the night after she was introduced to Danny, or prompt her in the first few months after meeting Vaughn.  Sydney and Vaughn's relationship was already firmly established in many ways by the time she reappeared from the dead, so this rare chance to mentor another woman was very special to her.

_"It's simple really.  How do you endure ten _years_ undercover, pretending to love someone you're _supposed_ to hate?"_

_"You don't."_

At first it was nothing more than an assignment.  A job that needed to be completed.  Irina knew this, saw the way that Grace said Burke's name with disdain when they were speaking privately.  She could tell through their conversations that while Grace wasn't miserable spending time with the man, it wasn't high on her list of pleasant ways to pass an afternoon.  When it was all said and done, it was a job.  Nothing more.

But then things began to change.  Grace was . . . different.  She was smiling more; she stared off into space without realizing it; she was calling him "Chris" now.  But perhaps most telling of all—Irina had to call her by her real name three times before she responded.

After that meeting, Irina laid down on her cot, hoping to rest for a few hours.  Instead, she was assailed with memories of another dark-haired agent with similar hopes and dreams.  An agent who had scornfully declared that her op was nothing more than a means to an end—namely, power.

How wrong she had been.  It seemed as if both she and Grace were easily duped.

And cautiously loved every minute of it.

_"It's time to move in for the kill."_

The op had barely begun before Grace was engaged to her mark.  This did not surprise Irina, who had anticipated this.  The mission was too important, the intel too necessary, for the CIA to allow Grace to take her time.  Lives hung precariously in the balance while she gained access to Burke's life, his work—his heart.

So even though they barely knew each other; even though under ordinary circumstances she was sure they would not have rushed things; even though Grace was losing confidantes left and right and becoming more and more isolated in her new life, she said yes.

Just like Irina had done years before.

_"The torch of love is lit in the kitchen."_

She could still remember where she was when one of her informants handed her the pictures of Grace and Burke leaving the courthouse.  The marriage itself was not a surprise, but the news that it was _Grace_ who moved up the date concerned her.  She knew the circumstances of the previous months—the death of her father, her strained relationships with the few friends she still saw on occasion . . . losing her.  And later Jack.

It reminded her of her own mission.  All alone in a new set of surroundings.  No family.  No friends.  No confidantes.

All she had had was the man who offered to buy her a cup of coffee after she picked him up on a street corner.  Her target.

Memories of that earlier time with Jack were at the forefront of her mind as she handed off the wrapped present to her oldest sister, who mailed it from Los Angeles.  She was confident Grace would get the message.

Great Aunt Laura was always available if Grace needed her.

_"After all, if KGB Assassin of the Year couldn't compartmentalize, who's to say that I could?  Not only does it seem that you betrayed your country, and Jack and __Sydney__, but . . . but . . . you betrayed yourself.  It scares me that you were able to do that."_

And therein lay the crux of the matter.  Put one agent in an impossible situation, taking on a new life.  Place her in a foreign environment, isolate her from everyone and everything she's ever known.  Have her superiors pressure her to work more, look harder, dig deeper, gain more intel faster than before.  Order her to immerse herself in this new life, in this new companion, then reprimand her when the lines begin to blur.

Irina had told Grace the truth when she said that it wasn't worth the little intel that was gained.  Because when she looked back on her own mission, she could recite the facts about Project Christmas.  She still remembered the codes to the safe and Jack's briefcase and where exactly the bugs were placed in his office.

But more importantly, she remembered the first time she said "I love you" and meant it.  The day when it was she who soothed Sydney's cries and felt an overpowering stirring within her.  The kiss goodbye she gave Jack, the tight squeeze she gave her little girl, before she drove away in the night and destroyed them all.

True, the KGB gained her intel.  But they lost something far more valuable in that ten years.

Her.

_"A preliminary investigation of Bentley's home indicates he worked with Mr. Sark.  In a project that was orchestrated by Irina Derevko."_

There were very few people whom Irina trusted.  Everyone had an angle, a motive, an endgame, which might or might not agree with hers.  She had thought she could trust Julian.

Apparently, she was wrong.

He followed her initial plans to the letter—forcing his way inside SD-6, forging an alliance of sorts with Arvin Sloane.  For a time it seemed as if he was also following her directions on this op; it was he who told her on the phone in Kashmir that Grace had been pulled from Bogotá just weeks earlier.  He who dead dropped intel so her prison guard—now _his_ prison guard, she smiled to herself—could pass the information on to her inside her cell.

Julian and Bentley thought they could double-cross her, that this was nothing more than a bored woman's scheme while trapped inside a cell of her own making.  The men erroneously believed that once she escaped in Panama, she would leave it behind, and they could do as they wished with the information.

Obviously, they were wrong.

And thanks to her sisters, she had photos of Bentley's corpse to prove it.

Not only had they deviated from her plan, not only had they hired a plant to find out for themselves what Grace knew, but she had reason to suspect that Bentley was hoping to use this intel to gain power in a new organization.  The . . . Covenant, she believed it was called.  It was a name that was only receiving slight attention in the underworld, but Irina had been around long enough to know that that could change in an instant.  One assassination, one transfer of power, and everything could shift.

She always came out on top; she had the amassed wealth and arms to prove it.  But even she had to admit that her organization was not her prime concern, that her alliances and her quest to keep Arvin away from Rambaldi didn't really matter to her anymore.

She had more important things to concern herself with now.  Two, in particular.

_"911 emergency response."___

_"A car just went off the road.  I think it's on fire.  Whoever's inside it is trapped—"_

Sometimes when she couldn't sleep she would morosely play the two 911 tapes over and over, letting the words and the voices crush her heart.  Two calls from two events, a scant eight weeks separating them.

To lose both of her girls by fire . . . she refused to accept it.  She knew they were both alive, both out there somewhere.  They only had to be found.

The thunder boomed outside the window, too close for comfort.  Irina sat up straight, breaking out of her reverie.  Perhaps she was thinking of Grace so much because it was easier to focus on her than on her missing daughter.  Or perhaps it was just her curiosity getting the better of her—had her plan worked?

She slowly eased back into bed and nudged her companion.  "I need to talk to you," she whispered urgently.

He swatted her hand away.  "Later," he mumbled, still asleep.

She shook him impatiently.  "Now, Jack."

He warily opened one eye.  "What?"

She turned on the bedside lamp and faced him.  "Thompson.  I need to see her."

"Why?"

"I just . . . need to see her."

Jack rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow.  "You know I don't have that kind of security clearance anymore**. ** Besides the fact that she _died_ last year.  I went to her funeral."

She arched an eyebrow at him.  "Do you really believe that either one of them were in that car?"

"Of course not," he said in a low voice.  "But she's not the person we're looking for.  We can't lose our focus, Irina."

"I'm not losing my focus," she snapped back.  "I'm just widening it."

He rolled over and rested his head on the pillow.

"Devlin would know where she is," she pointed out haltingly, breaking the silence.

"Devlin is not exactly my friend these days," he remarked dryly.  "I highly doubt he will be willing to do me any favors."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask," she shot back.

He sighed and turned over once more to face her.  "Fine.  The next time our search takes us near Los Angeles, I'll see what I can do."

She turned off the lamp and lay down, closing her eyes.  "Thank you."

_tbc_


	21. Closure

**_Twenty-one—Closure_**

The pair slowly began to weave their way through the throngs of people, passing a cotton candy machine on their left and a hot dog vendor on their right.

"You didn't happen to know there was a carnival beginning today, did you?" Jack asked Irina, giving her a pointed look.

She smiled demurely at him.  "I've been craving the blue cotton candy."

He shook his head.  "Later.  We've got to be there in ten minutes."

"We'll make it in time; it's just a few minutes away," she disagreed as something caught her eye.  "Oh," she breathed, interrupting herself, stopping in the middle of the street.

Jack squeezed her hand as they both watched the carousel slowly wind to a halt and parents rush to rejoin their children.

"She misses you, you know.  She keeps asking me when—"

"Soon."  She sighed, her eyes misting over.  "Soon."  She noticed one little girl in particular, long pigtails, rushing to meet her parents, and for a moment she was lost in memories.  "I miss her too.  So very much."

She quietly accepted his proffered handkerchief.  "Thank you."  She dabbed her eyes and smiled resolutely.  "Let's go."

They continued to travel, past the crowds, past the rides and games, until they found themselves in front of a nondescript warehouse.  "She's not here yet," Irina noted as they pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"I'll watch for her," Jack said, and Irina nodded.  She meandered through the warehouse.

"Don't forget to thank Devlin for me," she called out, reminding him.  "Even if it took almost two years to set up this meeting," she continued in a normal voice.

Jack turned to face her and glowered.  "I'm sorry that my year in solitary was a bother to you," he said sarcastically.  "I didn't plan to be arrested the day after you asked me to set this up."

Her eyes darkened, and she opened her mouth to speak.  Jack placed a finger to his lips.  "Not now.  She's here."  He watched as Irina slowly walked away from him, a faraway expression on her face.  No doubt anticipating this final interrogation.

From his vantage point he could see her approaching the building, looking around cautiously.  At last she opened the door, her gaze unwavering when Jack greeted her.  She shook her head at him and smiled slightly at his raised eyebrow, pointing to the script on the front of the locket which rested on top of her blouse.  "You know that's not my name anymore."

Wordlessly he led her into the warehouse.  Their footsteps echoed in the empty building as Irina came in sight, leaning against a stack of crates.  Her eyes locked on those of her visitor.

"Irina," she greeted her.  This time there was no fear.

"We meet again," Irina replied in a low, controlled voice.

"Yes.  We do."

Decades of training helped Irina quickly examine the younger woman from head to toe.  The blue eyes were the same—maybe they hadn't been contacts—and the dark hair was now a light brown and reached her shoulders, parted on one side.

Both of her hands were bare.

"I am only here at Mr. Devlin's request," she said.  "To be honest, I didn't expect to see either of you again, after what happened to Sydn—" she paused, her cheeks flushing.

"You haven't heard; Sydney is alive," Jack interrupted.  "She was missing until recently, but she is very much alive."

She blinked.  "How wonderful for all of you," she said sincerely.  She shook her head ruefully.  "I should have known better than to think a Bristow could actually die."

Irina stared at her evenly.  "That was our assessment of you as well."

She nodded slightly and briefly looked downwards before returning her gaze to Irina.  "This _will_ be our final meeting."

Irina glanced at Jack for a moment before continuing.  "I've enjoyed working with you," she said softly.  "Grace."

Irina could see her biting back a retort, could see her swallowing after hearing her old name again.  "Thank you," she said simply.  She slowly turned and began to walk away.

"There's a used bookstore a few blocks from here," Irina called out.  She stopped and turned around.

"I know," she said with a slight smile.  She folded her hands in front of her.  "But thank you for telling me."  She took a few more steps, then paused at the door.  "I'm glad your family has been reunited."  She twisted the locket between her fingers and was gone.

Irina stared at the closed door, lost in thought.  "A lot has happened since that first interrogation," she finally murmured.  "The Alliance had just been taken down, I was still in that cell, Sydney—"

"I know," Jack said over the lump in his throat.  "I know."  The two were silent for several moments as they remembered.  "We need to go," he said finally.  He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her towards the door.

"When do you need to be back in Los Angeles?" she asked him.

"Tomorrow."  He smiled at her crestfallen expression.  "And you're coming with me."

"What?" she exclaimed, stopping and turning to look at him.

He eyed her carefully.  "It's been two years since Sydney saw you.  No matter how old she is, a girl needs her mother."

She considered his words and finally nodded her assent.  The pair continued on their journey, squinting in the bright sunlight.

She was waiting for them.

"I—you—" she paused, smoothing her hair behind her ear.

"Yes?" Irina asked, amused.

She took a deep breath.  "When—when I was a little girl, back when I was—you know—_Grace_," she mouthed, "I had a huge doll collection.  And I had a name for each doll."

"And?"  Jack prompted.

She twisted the locket in her hand, the name glinting in the light.  "And my favorite doll was named Laura."  She smiled a half smile.  "I . . . I thought you might appreciate the irony in that."  She slowly released the locket and shoved both hands into her pockets as she walked away.

Jack chuckled while Irina let her eyes follow the woman as she continued down the street and disappeared into the crowds of people at the carnival.  She committed to memory her bright blue eyes, her heart-shaped face, her light brown hair, and her slightly fuller figure.

"Laura," she repeated with a smile of her own.

Perhaps this interrogation had been successful after all.

~~~fin~~~

*faints*  And so, one year after "A woman comes to see Irina b/c she is being sent on a deep cover mission where she will have to marry an enemy of her country . . . just like J/I" appeared on my computer screen, it is finally, _finally_ done.  (And who knew that it would be as twisted as it turned out to be?  Certainly not me!)

Massive hugs to the ones who put up with me in that year, especially Becky and Steph, who were along for the ride from day one.  Total insanity.

Thanks to everyone who has read and/or commented.  The comments have always been enlightening and amusing, to say the least. :)

And lastly, let it be known that I plan to never post a fic before the whole thing is written.  *hand over heart*


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